New World Man
by Bastille Kain
Summary: A terrified fifteen year old potential. A Draconian Katra. A ruthless twenty-eight year old demon hunter.
1. Chap 1: Shy Boy

Author: Kain

Title: New World Man

Disclaimer: Aside from a few Original Character's I created I own nothing. The character's of Buffy, Angel, and any other show that happens to be unforunate enough to wind up being used here belong to other people.

Spoilers: Starts a few weeks before the beginning of season 7. So just about everything. Introduces original character so their actions will change things. BTVS characters do not appear until chapter four.

Summary: A terrified fifteen year old Potential, with a Draconian Katra. A ruthless twenty-eight year old demon hunter.

Pairings: None.

Rating: PG-13. Violence, language, and embarrassing sexual situations.

Feedback: Is always apprectiated. Just try to keep it construtive.

Email: Kain6639@yahoo.com

Archive: If you like it that much, sure. Just be sure to let me know where it's going, and give me the credit, good or bad, for my work.

****

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Chapter One: Shyboy

A dark wind blew through the network of alleys, side streets, and access lanes that had accidentally built up throughout the old section of rundown warehouses. It scattered debris, twirled small bits of paper and discarded cardboard in its wake. It also tossed Michael's long, ramrod straight, dirty blonde hair about, whipping it to and fro, like dead leaves still clinging to a branch.

The gentle breeze was far from dark, it was actually warm, refreshing with the promise of something extraordinary on the horizon. Dark was just the emotion Michael ascribed to everything during missions like this one. He had little liking for clandestine meetings of any kind, but those that involved an abandoned warehouses in the dark of night gave him an extra special helping of paranoia.

He slips inside the prearranged building, moving surprisingly light for someone of his size and build. Thanks to the dark glasses covering his eyes the decaying and darken shell of a warehouse was light up like noon on a bright, sunny day. With years of training, and nearly as many of practical application, he moves through the building without making a sound.

At the far end of the concrete floor he sees what is suppose to be his contact. There was something that didn't feel right about this. Once again he quickly scans the area. Taking his time he searches even the deepest, darkest crevice for any sign of a trap. A few minutes later he comes up with the same conclusion he had to begin with. The warehouse was clean with only him and his contact, what was suppose to be, an elderly Englishman with an extreme knowledge of the occult and demon community.

The occult Michael didn't really care about. Like all religions their beliefs were protected by the constitution. Demons on the other hand concerned him a great deal. If there was a nest of bloodsuckers in the area he wanted to know about them. Anything that made his job of finding and eliminating the evil bastards easier. Just like he also wanted to know where the friendlier demons were, where their bars were located. He had no desire to kill non hostiles, or to stumble into a situation he couldn't get out of.

Sighing softly to himself he begins to walk forward moving as silently as he always did. He always wondered why people involved in demonology or the occult always insisted on these types of places for their meetings. They never wanted to have their rendezvous in a brightly light Wendy's or any other equally inane place. It always had to be in some dank, dark hole in the ground.

Madison kept a close, anxious eye on the large man approaching her. His thick, black leather duster just touched the tops of his calves. It was extremely stiff and seemed to shine slightly as the pale moonlight hit it. The coat reminded her of something she had seen in a sci-fi t.v. series, not that she got to watch a lot of television, but she managed to sneak some in every now and then.

That was just one of many reasons she had initially formulated this plan. Of course her dreams had forced her to up her timetable. She no longer had the option of finding a suitable candidate. Now it was whatever she could find and what she had found was: a six foot three inch, long blonde hair, Doc Martin clad, sunglasses wearing stud. He was definitely someone she could have sunk her teeth into. As it stood she was going to be sinking something else into him.

"Mr. Davenport?" She inquires just to be sure, not that it mattered, not at this point. She could feel her time running down. He nods, a barely perceptible dip of his head, as he continues to gaze into the shadows surrounding them. She was slightly disconcerted by the fact that he acted like he could see into the darkness around them.

Michael's gaze runs over the girl like a fine tooth comb. She was definitely an eyeful, though her brown trench coat hid most of her body. Tall for a girl in her early teens, maybe five and a half feet. It was hard to tell because she was wearing a pair of paten leather platform boots. She seems lean, not thin, but trim, athletic.

Her long red hair shimmered wetly, accentuating her bronze complexion. It was woven into a network of tight beaded braids. Her hazel eyes were tinted bluish green. They were harder then he was used to seeing on a girl her age. "You're not quite what I was expecting," he replies barely showing any interest in her. His voice had a slight gravelly quality making his words sound harsher then they were meant to be.

She gives him a fake little smile, "I'm Madison Rose. Professor Jacob's assistant," she answers in a voice like spun glass.

"And just why are you here instead of him?" He questions as his gaze finally settle on her. There was something about the girl he just didn't trust.

She shrugs unconcerned by his inquiry, " he was detained. He didn't say why and I didn't asks," she responds giving a good impression of not caring. Reaching inside her coat Michael tenses slightly until he sees her withdraw a thick manila envelope. "He simply instructed me to give you this," she finishes extending the packet to him.

"You know what's in there?" he asks reaching out for the bundle she held.

She shakes her head, "but I can guess," she answers waiting for just the right moment to strike. All she needed was another inch or so and she would be able to use her get out of jail free card.

Michael never saw her move. Not because he wasn't expecting some kind of treachery, since he felt everyone would betray him eventually. He simply never saw her move. A feat that should have been impossible since she was human. His glasses thermal imagery showed him that she had a normal human body temperature.

Her hand had been moving forward, while the envelope still hung in the air, grabbing his wrist in a vise like grip. He was even more surprised when she pulls his arm bringing him to her. He didn't fight the move because it accomplished what he wanted, getting closer to her. His backfist lashes out just as he feels cool metal pressed into the palm of his hand.

A sudden jolt surges through his entire body as everything, his entire world, twists and turns as it's wrung inside out before finally snapping back into place as darkness descends with the abruptness of a switch being thrown. An instant later the back of a large knuckled hand crashes into the side of his head making his eyes roll back. He feels his knees give out from the force of the impact.

"Shit," he hears his gruff voice curse from a short distance away as he feels some kind of ring and bracelet being jerked off his hands. There was something odd about that, something important that he was missing. Right now he could hardly remember the answer to two plus two. He was pretty sure it was four, but he wasn't willing to place money on it.

Suddenly the large hand that had been holding him up lets go. He stumbles back a step before falling to the ground because he had forgotten how to walk. Hitting the concrete didn't feel right to him: he didn't fall far enough, his body didn't cover as much of the concrete as it should have, his grunt didn't sound like him.

"These are way cool," his voice says from several feet away. "Wonder what other neat little toys you've got hidden about?" His body, without him in it, inquires of him.

Everything clicks into place as he looks up at himself. He quickly glances down, in order to confirm his suspicions, at the girl's body he now seemed to be residing in. "What the hell did you do!" He roars angrily, or he tried to. His shout had come out more as a high pitch screech then the roar he had been going for.

Madison giggles. At least he thinks the sound his body emitted was suppose to be a giggle. She staggers forward a couple of steps. He watches as Madison frowns. He's a little surprised by the level of detail he can make out in this body. Either it wasn't as dark as he had originally thought, or the girls night vision was at the pinnacle of what humans were capable of. Maybe even a little better.

Until this moment he had never realized just how intimidating his body was. Seeing himself from this side, as Madison squats down a little clumsily, was a truly impressive sight. "Hope you enjoy the new accommodations," she comments maliciously.

"What did you do to me?" He asks again, though this time in much better control of his new voice, despite already knowing the obvious answer. It was the only thing he could think of doing now. Well there was also beating the crap out of the little bitch but with him stuck in this body, probably with the same motor control problems she now had, he didn't think that was very likely.

She smirks a viscous little grin, "I'm pretty sure you know what I did."

He growls softly at her flippant attitude. "Fine. Why'd you do it?"

Whatever humor she had found in the situation evaporates as she rises back to her full height. "There's these bunch of guys trying to kill me," Madison answers glancing down at her former body. "Well, you now. Along with a bunch of other really special people just like you. Nothing personal. I just don't want to die."

"Nothing personal," Michael hisses. "you're in my body. That makes it about as perso..." Everything seems to slow down as he sees a dark robed arm grab his arm. He sees the gleaming blade of the dagger flash in the pale light from the moon just before it plunges into his stomach. On some level he can feel the searing pain as the blade slices through his flesh, can feel it as the razor sharp blade is pulled out and plunged into his body over and over again. He watches- in horror- as pain, anger, fear, and perhaps a dozen other emotions flash across his face each and every time the dagger pierces his flesh. He watches as the light fades from his eyes. "NOOO!!!" He shouts, on his feet without knowing how he got there.

The first of the, robe wearing, men turn towards the shriek that his vocal cords had created. Michael would have said the man was stunned at seeing him. If the oddly mutilated, eyeless, face could be said to registered expression like most normal human beings. It was possible Michael would have seen that if Michael wasn't in a blind rage. Whatever emotion the Harbingers of the First Evil had were gone in a flash as first one then the other five charge the girl they had been assigned to kill. If they had been able to see the look of pure fury plastered on her normally angelic face they might have had seconds thoughts about launching an assault on her.

Michael sees everything through a red haze of rage as the first of the Harbringers reaches him, the twelve inch blade covered in his blood doing it's best to cut into his flesh. His slim, long finger hand whips out grabbing his wrist, crushing it in his amazingly strong grip. Stepping to the side he twirls his arm flipping the robed man onto his back. Snatching the blade out of his hand, he spins to the left wrapping the Harbringer's arm around his leg snapping his limb at the elbow as he drive his knee into the man's throat crushing his windpipe.

Continuing his spin, Michael slashes his blade upwards, slicing deep into the second Harbringer's forearm causing his suddenly nerveless hand to drop his dagger. Michael's right hand plucks the foot long, razor sharp blade out of the air as it plummets to the concrete floor. Sweeping it diagonally upwards he feels the blade slice through the Harbringer's thigh and gut as easily as it does his dark robe. His left arm swings back slicing upwards through his stomach and chest.

Seeing the four remaining dark robed men closing in on him, Michael shoulder rolls forward putting himself behind them. He's rising back to his feet as he spins back around faster then any of the Harbringers can. The twelve inch blade in each hand slices a deadly pattern into the back of the nearest Harbringer. With a solid front kick into his bloodied back Michael sends the dying man careening into two of his companions. The three of them crash to the floor in a tangled mess of robes and limbs.

Moving quickly, while the last standing Harbringer is still in the middle of twirling around, his robes flaring with the move, he closes on him. The blade in his right hand slipping between two ribs as it slides easily into his heart. Bringing his left arm around his head he snaps his neck as he spins around tossing him at the pair of Harbringers rising to their feet. His body sails through the air nearly taking off his two companions head, both however manage to avoid his body this time.

They separate quickly planning on coming at Michael on an angle. Moving together they both reach him at the same time. It becomes readily apparent that neither has Michael's skill with a blade as he weaves his daggers deflecting the ones that they wield while delivering shallow cuts to their arms seemingly at will. The ring of metal striking metal rings throughout the warehouse as the deadly duel continues. Michael constantly moving, giving ground as he circles keeping both opponents in front of him.

The Bringer on his right slashes downward, while the one on his left stabs upward. He blocks both of them sliding his razor sharp blades along their delicate flesh. One blade slicing down the right arm, from wrist to tricep, before opening the flesh along his ribs. The other does a similar job on his fellow Harbinger's right arm moving upwards until his blade connects with the man's chest. Moving forward he twist, turns one blade sliding downward the other moving up slicing one Harbringer's throat while the other has his guts and intestines spilled onto the concrete floor.

He continues his spin, as his last two opponents fall, shrinking down making himself as small of a target as possible. His eyes search the darkness trying to locate anymore possible enemies cloaking themselves with shadows. Several minutes pass, the entire time the warehouse remains deathly silent, before Michael's convinced that he's the only living person left in what has become a death house.

Rising slowly back to his feet he drops the blood covered daggers to floor. They hit the concrete with a dull clang as he hangs his head as a wave a nausea washes over him. He doesn't feel remorse or regret for the men he had just killed, it was him or them and he'd rather it be them dead every single time. Looking down at himself he wants to laugh, cry, a dozen other things he didn't even have names for. He was in a woman's body, a teenaged girl's body to more accurate. His body was dead lying a dozen feet away among other dead bodies.

He pivots his head slowly until his body comes back into view, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He can feel the multicolored beads Madison had woven into her brilliant red hair shift against his skin. Once again the reality of the situation slams into him and he has the overwhelming urge to hurl, laugh, curse and cry all at the same time coarse through him. He was dead, yet he was alive. Trapped in the body of the conniving bitch that had gotten him killed.

Walking over to his body, only stumbling once on the way, he pulls his pack of camel cigarettes, along with his zippo lighter, out of his duster's pocket. Lighting a cigarette he inhales deeply, only to choke on the smoke as it burns its way down his throat. He frowns lightly at the sensation before taking another smaller drag off the cigarette. "God my life sucks," he sighs softly while smoke billows around him as he exhales. The sound of his new voice sending a shiver down his spine.

________________________________________________________________________

New World Man - Rush

He's a rebel and a runner  
He's a signal turning green  
He's a restless young romantic  
Wants to run the big machine  
  
He's got a problem with his poisons  
But you know he'll find a cure  
He's cleaning up his systems  
To keep his nature pure  
  
Learning to match the beat of the Old World Man  
Learning to catch the heat of the Third World Man  
  
He's got to make his own mistakes  
And learn to mend the mess he makes  
He's old enough to know what's right  
But young enough not to choose it  
He's noble enough to win the world  
But weak enough to lose it  
He's a New World Man...  
  
He's a radio receiver  
Tuned to factories and farms  
He's a writer and arranger  
And a young boy bearing arms  
  
He's got a problem with his power  
With weapons on patrol  
He's got to walk a fine line  
And keep his self-control  
  
Trying to save the day for the Old World Man  
Trying to pave the way for the Third World Man  
  
He's not concerned with yesterday  
He knows constant change is here today  
He's noble enough to know what's right  
But weak enough not to choose it  
He's wise enough to win the world  
But fool enough to lose it  
He's a New World Man...

________________________________________________________________________

Shyboy - David Lee Roth

On the stage I'm in a rage  
But you I never fool  
Well I can rock with anyone  
But never alone with you  
Somethin' starts a barkin'  
Now deep inside of me  
I need a classy woman  
To knock me off my feet  
  
  
Shyboy, shyboy, shyboy, shyboy  
Shyboy, shyboy, give it one more time boy  
Shyboy, shyboy, shyboy, shyboy  
Shyboy, shyboy, give it one more time boy  
  
Oh, you make me nervous  
More than I had planned  
Would you wanna know me  
If I wasn't in the band  
Crazy feeelings  
Deep inside of me  
I need a wild woman  
To knock me off my feet  
  
Shyboy, shyboy, shyboy, shyboy  
Shyboy, shyboy, give it one more time boy  
Shyboy, shyboy, shyboy, shyboy  
Shyboy, shyboy, give it one more time boy  
  
Gotta keep things moving  
Till my personality starts improving  
  
Shyboy, shyboy, shyboy, shyboy  
Shyboy, shyboy, give it one more time boy  
Shyboy, shyboy, shyboy, shyboy  
Shyboy, shyboy, give it one more time boy  
  
Gotta keep things moving  
Till my personality starts improving  
  
Shyboy, shyboy, shyboy, shyboy  
Shyboy, shyboy, give it one more time boy  
Shyboy, shyboy, shyboy, shyboy  
Shyboy, shyboy, give it one more time boy


	2. Chap 2: Mr Jones

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Chapter Two: Mr. Jones

There wasn't the slightest groan or creak as Michael settles his newer, smaller body into the tiny, cushioned, hardwood chair. He found it unsettling. Wooden chairs were suppose to shift alarmingly under him when he sat on them.

Then again he was finding the entire situation he was in disconcerting. He was a nearly thirty year old man trapped in a teenage girl's body. A body, he had come to realize some time ago, he was more then likely going to be stuck in for the rest of his life.

With every second that passes he found himself hating the girl, Madison Rose, more then he thought he could possible hate any human being. Her getting his body killed caused a great deal of his anger. Stealing it in the first place made him feel violated, like there was something fundamentally wrong with the world that it would allow such an act to be committed.

In his mind it was second only to watching his parents killed by trio of inhuman monsters while he ran away. They had bought his life with their own that night and when the Harbringer's had killed Madison in his body tonight it had made their sacrifice, those long years ago, meaningless. Which meant they had died for nothing and that was what he truly hated her for.

Michael knew he was going to have to do something to get past his rage, to work off his anger. His temper wasn't a placid thing. It was swift and volatile, and normally left a swath of destruction in his wake like a tornado. He knew he wasn't going to be able to get through the rest of his life if every time he looked in the mirror his rage, at seeing her face, threatened to burst through.

With as bad as it looked to begin with Michael still had a little hope of finding out why she had done this to him. She had left him with a place to start his search. She had been considerate enough to leave him with her I. D. along with a key to a house that he assumed was her home. He had been in the house for nearly four hours now sifting through what had been her life.

Not that it had been much of a life from what he could tell. Madison Rose seemed to have the social life of a leper, and unfortunately for him the one person who may have been able to provide answers to his questions. A stocky, middle aged man with a fascination for tweed, had been butchered in his den a couple of hours earlier. From documents he had found during his search of the odiferous room he had learnt the dead man was Professor Wyatt Jacob. The person he was suppose to meet earlier tonight.

Michael was frustrated beyond any level he had ever felt in his nearly twenty-eight years. He knew little more about the life Madison Rose had lived after spending four hours rummaging through it then he did after just meeting her. She had kept a diary that read like a fantasy novel. Tales of supernatural warriors, slayers as they were called. Potentials, what she was considered. Their trainers, the watcher, as they were known.

Michael found the term of watcher to be rather disquieting considering the facts he had. Young, hot, nubile teenage girl living with a fifty plus year old man. His mind just couldn't stop with the rather disturbing visual images that kept flashing through his head.

There was this whole spiel in her diary about demons and vampires trying to bring hell to earth and how the slayer, young girls of an age with Madison, were suppose to spend their lives fighting them, keeping the world safe until they died. At which time another girl would be chosen from among the potentials left and blessed with a whole plethora of cool super powers.

It reminded Michael of how cults brainwashed their members, only with a slight twist. Spin them a fantastic tale of monsters and heroes. Constantly telling them that they were special. That one day it might be them chosen to fight the forces of darkness, to stem the flood of evil that threatens to overrun the world. The girls would be so grateful for their lives having a purpose that they wouldn't question anything their watcher would tell them. 

Sure vampires were evil. That they needed to be wiped off the face of the planet. He could agree with that. They were viscous killers that fed off the blood of humans. They were able to use humans to increase their numbers somehow. Their were also a lot of demons out their just as bad as vampires, but he knew far more friendly, even good demons then he did evil ones wanting to end all life on Earth.

One thing that was troubling Michael was that he didn't know if it was Madison or the Harbringer's that had butchered Jacob. He hopes it had been the Harbringers, but he knew either was equally capable of the committing the savage act. Madison was willing to do anything in order to accomplish her goal. Killing one old man wouldn't have been that much of an obstacle for her.

Just like making sure his body could never be identified wasn't that much of an obstacle for him. It was a task that had to be taken care of. Now that it was over with it was simply a matter of not letting himself dwell on the deed. He'd bury it alongside all the other morally questionable acts he had committed over the years. What was one more dark secrete that would never see the light of day?

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The sound of bone crunching, of teeth shattering as he slams the heel of his paten leather platform boots into the front of, what had been until recently, his open mouth made his stomach roil with disgust. He could practically taste the bile in the back off his throat. He savagely pushes the feeling down. He had done far worse in his twenty seven years then what he was being forced to do right now. If he was able to handle it back then he sure as hell could handle it now. What did it matter that the body he worked on now had belonged to him less then an hour ago.

His dark cobalt eyes stared back at him mockingly. Taunting him with the knowledge that he was dead, that he hadn't been able to save himself. That he hadn't even tried just like he hadn't tried to save his parents ten years earlier. Then he had ran, now he watched, neither time had he acted.

Tearing his eyes away he breaks the morbid staring contest he was having with himself. Squeezing his eyes shut he once again attempts to bury the turmoil that threatens to overwhelm him. Opening his eyes, a single tear sliding down his right cheek, he drags his now mutilated body to the pyre he had built a short time ago.

With an ease, that he continued to find surprising, he tosses his body atop of the Harbringer's bodies that he had already piled on top of the huge wooden structure. Setting the manila envelope on fire he uses it to ignite the dry and brittle kindling he had gathered and dispersed throughout the pyre. It takes only moments before the oil soaked lumber turns into a raging bonfire in the middle of the warehouse. The stench of burning hair and flesh make him want to gag.

Suppressing his sudden urge to vomit Michael gathers up what is left of his belongings: an intricately woven metal bracelet connecting to several rings by delicate strings of golden metal, his too large duster, two wrist holsters, tazers, and a pair of eighteen inch razor sharp daggers. Stopping at the top of the stairs Michael looks back down at the blazing pyre. Nothing within the conflagration was recognizable. Black smoke billowing into the air, as bright orange sparks rise high before falling back the earth like miniature comets.

A few moments later he's sitting behind the wheel of his gloss black, 1969 mint condition convertible Corvette, complete with a few modern conveniences. With hands that don't want to stop shaking he turns the engine over. It roars to life just as the speakers blare out the County Crows classic Mr. Jones. Their lead singer mellow voice belting out the lyrics. 

"I want to be Bob Dylan. Mr. Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky."

"And I just want to be me," Michael sighs. "Doesn't look like any of us get what we want."

Michael slams the dairy shut, "argh!" He snarls hurling the book across the room where it embeds itself into the wall. Rising to his feet he pushes the chair back. He gives a small, satisfied smile as the flimsy chair crashes softly to the thick, indigo, shag rug that covers the floor to Madison's room. Looking around the room he barely notices the mess he had created. He had gone through her closet like a whirlwind, tossing her clothes every where. He had dumped the contents of her dresser onto the floor in his quest for useful information. The only piece of which he had found clutched in the dead professor's hand. A girl's name and town in California jotted down, in a hasty scrawl, on a slip of paper.

Striding across the room, to where he had tossed a leather duffel bag earlier, Michael doesn't even wobble slightly. He was quickly becoming accustomed to her body. It was faster then he liked, but slower then he knew was necessary.

Gathering up what clothes he felt he could comfortable wear- jeans, sweats, sweaters, shorts, and t-shirts- he shoved them into the duffel bag. Turning to the pile of clothes on the floor in front of the dresser he lifts his head to the ceiling. When he had tossed them to the floor during his search he had barely glanced at the garments.

Never before in his life had he ever contemplated wearing female clothing of any type let alone their undergarments. "Come on you fucking pussy," he whispers to himself. "Its not like you've never seen the damn shit before. You never had a problem when it came to getting a woman out of her thong before. Sure you've never actually thought about wearing any yourself, but its not all that different then what men wear." He shakes his head at the absurdity of the conversation he was having with himself.

Looking back down his gaze stops as it settles on the mirror sitting atop the dresser. It was the first time since Madison had stolen his body that he had seen her face. Earlier he had purposefully avoided looking at the mirror, at any mirror, for fear of what his reaction might be. He takes a small step forward, then another, followed by another hoping, willing that with each step he takes that his face, the face that had always been his, was going to reappear. That he would be rid of this stranger's face. This person that had ended his life.

With an animalistic growl he smashes his fist into the mirror's reflective surface shattering the image. Instead of her face disappearing from in front of him, her bluish green flecked hazel eyes stare back at him from a thousand different shards. It was then that he noticed something else about her face. Something that he hadn't been aware of before this moment. There was blood streaked across her face.

He feels the bile rise as he stares, mesmerized, by the sight of the blood smeared across her sharp features. He knows he's not going to be able to stop himself from emptying his stomach this time. He jumps over the twin size bed, tripping as he lands on the other side. Scrambling to his knees he grabs the trashcan he had seen earlier. He barely gets it under him in time as he heaves, discharging the partially digested contents of his stomach.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" He demands not understanding why his stomach was suddenly giving him so many problems. It had never been that delicate before. Yet now it was rebelling every time he saw something slightly nauseating.

Leaning back against the bed he knew he had to do something he had been putting off for as long as he possibly could. Something he hadn't even begun contemplating, but now it was something he had to do before he could leave this house. He had to shower.

There was no way he could wonder around New York City with blood covering his face and not draw attention to himself. Under normal circumstances attention was something Michael never wanted focused on him. With the circumstance he found himself in now attention was something that was to be avoided at all possible cost.

Michael sits on the closed toilet, bony elbows driven into the hard muscles of his long legs, chin propped up in his small hands, staring blankly at the overabundant bathing products lining the bath and filling the cabinet. He wonders why he just couldn't find a bar of soap to go along with the wash cloth he had brought in from the upstairs hall closet. He only had a vague idea of what most of the bathing products were for; sponges, perfumed oils, scented body washes, but he had never used anything like these items before. For him bathing had always been a simple process. Water mixed with soap and shampoo. Dirty man goes in, five minutes later clean man comes out.

With a disgruntled sigh Michael stands up. He was just delaying something that he was going to have to do inevitably. Unless he planned on never bathing again and living in the same clothes for the rest of his life.

For him this was the final step, undressing, seeing himself naked in a female body. It would solidify the events of the past several hours, make them real, in fact, and not just in his mind. As long as he stayed clothed he could continue to fool himself. As long as he kept his clothes on he could insulate himself from the truth.

Stepping back he turns around to check the chair he had propped under the door knob in order to make sure the door was secure. He doubted it would hold against a determined intruder but it would buy him the necessary time to arm himself. Stopping himself from finding another meaningless task to occupy his time Michael reaches into the shower. Turning the spigot on he adjust the heat until it was at the temperature he preferred.

Now that there was absolutely nothing left for him to use as a stalling tactic he takes a deep breath, looks up towards the ceiling, and closes his eyes as he quickly strips away the rest of his clothes. Somehow, he wasn't sure how, he manages to pull the bra off at the same time he pulled off his black lycra top. A few seconds later he slips the thong panties down along with the low riding, black, boot cut jeans he had been wearing.

After finishing taking off his clothes he simply stands where he was, staring up at the ceiling with eyes sealed tightly shut. The air in the bathroom felt cooler then it normally did against his soft flesh. Releasing the breath he didn't realize he was holding his shiver slightly in the cold air.

Intending nothing more then to warm himself slightly by rubbing his biceps with his hands he crosses his thin arms over his chest and freezes when his forearms run into a pair of obstructions that he had never had before. Worse yet he became aware of something missing from his anatomy. A comforting weight that had always hung between his legs, a weight that was now gone.

With a deep resounding sigh, that would have sounded funny coming from such a slight girl, Michael lowers his head as he opens his eyelids. Staring into the large mirror located over the tiny sink his eyes rake over his new, feminine body. Locking in on the juncture between his legs, more importantly at what wasn't between his legs, and what was.

He had never been a big believer in the dogma that most people sprouted about a man's masculinity resided in his penis, but now, seeing what he was missing he wasn't so sure. There was definitely something different about this body. He had felt that from the very beginning. And now there was a dry heat settling over his body as he studied the neatly trimmed pubic that disappeared between his lean, sculpted legs.

His gaze widens as he takes in more of the killer body he now possessed. He wasn't all that surprised to notice that Madison had a full body tan. Setting aside his personal feelings towards her, he could admit that the girl had kept herself in peak physical shape.

The diamond studded hoop navel ring that was center attraction in the middle of his lithe abdomen instantly drew Michael's gaze. As did the intricate Chinese dragon tattoo that covered her right hip, the creature's long snout would easily peak up above the waist line of nearly all the pants Madison owned, and ran the length of her upper leg ending just below his knee. It was an amazing piece of artwork, filled with vibrant gold, greens, blues, and reds, of almost every shade. The intricate details the artist had created made it even more life like. From the way it's toothy maw seemed to be smiling, to the glint in it's emerald eyes, to how it's claws actually seemed to be piercing the flesh of his leg drawing little droplets of blood, to how it's long tail wound it's way around his leg ending in a sharp point in the hollow of his knee.

Both the piercing and the tattoo had to be things Madison had done some time ago because he felt no discomfort or irritation at all. Neither were things he would have done in his former body, but they felt right on this body. He turns his head from side to side, curious to find out if he now had pierced ears. Michael takes a deep breath as he learns that each ear had at least half a dozen holes in them.

He decides that after he was done taking his shower he was going to have to go through Madison's things again to find her earrings. He knew if he was going to convince anyone of him being a fifteen year old girl he was going to need all the props he could get his hands on. Not that he relished the idea of putting in a dozen or so earrings it was just something he was going to have to get used to.

Dropping his arms from in front of his chest Michael's gaze locks in on his well developed, tanned, rosy nipple breast. He feels his temperature rise again in the cool air as a line of presperation forms on his brow. A not unpleasant knot forms in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't a painful sensation, it was more of a sense of anticipation, of waiting for something to happen. Only he had no idea of what he was suppose to be waiting for.

They were supple, but amazingly firm breast, large, but not monstrously so. Experimentally he grazes his long, well manicured, finger lightly over his nipple. At the slight contact the nipple pebbles, hardening like nothing he has never felt before. Moaning softly he feels his temperature rise drastically with the sensation the light contact causes. The knot in his center growing, tightening all at the same time as heat spreads its way throughout his body.

"Fuck!" He shouts pulling his hand away from his breast in shock. He was being turned on by seeing his body naked. He had never been turned on by his body before. Taking several deep breathes he begins to calm down as he comes to the realization he's being turned on by the body of a fifteen year old girl. Michael sighs in relief, thankful that being in a woman's body hadn't changed his sexual orientation. He was still attracted to the female form. Seeing a pair of breast still got him, well not hard, but there was definitely something going on south of the border.

Then his mind informed him of another fact he had conveniently forgotten. A fact that made him feel like he was the most depraved pervert on the face of the planet. He was a twenty-seven, nearly twenty-eight year old man taking pleasure in a fifteen year old girl's body. He felt like he was committing statutory rape on himself.

Uncomfortable with everything he was feeling in his new body Michael practically leaps into the shower. Landing directly under the jetting water, "holy! Sweet fucking Jesus," he gasps loudly as the freezing water pummels his body. Stumbling backwards he tries to adjust the temperature without falling on his ass or getting hit by anymore of the frigid icicles the shower head was spitting out.

Not only was the water far too cold for his sensitive skin, but it did nothing to quell the ache he felt throbbing in his core. If anything the frigid water sent a completely different type of chill coursing through his body. As the cold spray hit him he feels his already hard nipples harden even further. The sensation was almost painful, but in an extremely pleasurable way.

Steam begins to rise from the water spraying from the nozzle. "Thank you," he sighs as he's finally able to step under the shower head. Allowing the more then warm water to spray directly into his face before cascading down the rest of his body he enjoys the feel of the water as it moistens his dry skin. Feeling the warmth spread over his entire body he lets out a relieved breath. He had finally found something that didn't turn his insides inside out.

Turning around he enjoys the spray of hot water pounding into his upper back and shoulders. It was very nearly as relieving as getting a shoulder rub. Michael could feel the tension of the last few hours slip away as the water washes over him.

Picking up the powder blue squeegee, he holds it under the water while he peruses the array of body washes. Going through them one at a time he smells each and every one until he finally finds a fragrance he likes. Reading the label he frowns at the irony, rose scented.

Squeezing an over large dollop of rose scented body wash onto the squeegee he lathers the bathing utensil. Starting with his face he quickly sets about washing his body. After scrubbing his face he begins moving down his body. As he began washing his body he could feel the tension building in his body again. Slowly at first, but with ever increasing pressure.

Going from his long, graceful neck and narrow, delicate shoulders, down to his slender arms. From his overly sensitive underarms and ribcage to the swell of his gentle, curving breast, to his harden nipples. Everywhere the lathered squeegee touches the tighter, the more constricted his body becomes. With each touch, every time he grazes his skin the knot in the center of his core pulsates sending a fresh wave of heat spreading throughout his body. From the soles of his small feet to the very tips of his braided hair.

It didn't seem to matter how he touched his body either. Sometimes a lighter touch elicited an even more intense pulse then a firmer hand did. It felt as if a countdown had been started in his body. A countdown he had no idea how to stop. A countdown he didn't know if he could stop even if he knew how.

Just wishing to end the torturous experience as quickly as possible he quickly scrubs over his midriff and gasps as his knees buckle. An electric jolt blows through his body as the squeegee roughly brushes over his naval ring. He felt as if every single cell in his body had come alive for a single mind numbing instant. If he hadn't grabbed hold of the hand rail as quickly as he had he would have wound up on the bathtub floor the intense stimulation had caused.

Gritting his teeth tightly together he once again tries to shove everything to the farthest reaches of his body as he continues with the task at hand. Hastily he scrubs down his right leg starting from his right buttocks down the back of his leg to his ankle, then back up the outside, down the front, and finally up the inside of his thigh. So concerned with finishing his washing Michael doesn't think as he scrubs between his legs. With a sharp gasp and a full body shudder, his muscles turn to jello in an instant. He collapses to the bathtub floor, his knees slamming into the hard plastic surface.

It was as if a damn had burst open inside his body as wave after wave of pure bliss crashes over and through his body. It made the unbelievable experience of just a few short minutes ago seem almost common place in comparison. It dwarfed ever experience he had ever had as a man.

It was easily the most phenomenal thing he had experienced in his life. He didn't know how to describe it. It had made him feel alive in a way he had never imagined he could feel before. Yet there was still a part of him, a piece in the back of his head, that felt like most deranged pervert in the entire world. 

Gasping for breath, chest heaving, stomach quivering, as his body slowly recovers from his first female orgasm, he looks up at the bathroom ceiling. "What?" He shouts at the ceiling, "what did I ever do to deserve this?"

________________________________________________________________________

Mr. Jones - Counting Crows

I was down at the new amsterdam staring at this  
Yellow-haired girl  
Mr. jones strikes up a conversation with this black-  
Haired flamenco dancer  
She dances while his father plays guitar  
She's suddenly beautiful  
We all want something beautiful  
I wish i was beautiful  
So come dance this silence down through the morning  
Cut up, maria! show me some of them spanish dances  
Pass me a bottle, mr. jones  
Believe in me  
Help me believe in anything cause  
I want to be someone who believes  
Mr. jones and me tell each other fairy tales and we  
Stare at the beautiful women  
"she's looking at you. ah, no, no, she's looking at me."  
Smiling in the bright lights  
Coming through in stereo  
When everybody loves you, you can never be lonely  
I will paint my picture  
Paint myself in blue and red and black and gray  
All of the beautiful colors are very very meaningful  
Gray is my favorite color  
I felt so symbolic yesterday  
If i knew picasso  
I would buy myself a gray guitar and play  
Mr. jones and me look into the future  
Stare at the beautiful women  
"she's looking at you.  
, i don't think so. she's looking at me."  
Standing in the spotlight  
I bought myself a gray guitar  
When everybody loves me, i will never be lonely  
I want to be a lion  
Everybody wants to pass as cats  
We all want to be big big stars, but we got different  
Reasons for that  
Believe in me because i don't believe in anything  
And i want to be someone to believe  
Mr. jones and me stumbling through the barrio  
Yeah we stare at the beautiful women  
"she's perfect for you, man, there's got to be  
Somebody for me."  
I want to be bob dylan  
Mr. jones wishes he was someone just a little more  
Funky  
When everybody loves you, son, that's just about as  
Funky as you can be  
Mr. jones and me staring at the video  
When i look at the television, i want to see me staring  
Right back at me  
We all want to be big stars, but we don't know why  
And we don't know how  
But when everybody loves me, i'm going to be just  
About as happy as i can be  
Mr. jones and me, we're gonna be big stars...


	3. Chap 3: Carry On My Wayward Son

__

Chapter Three: Carry On My Wayward Son

The brilliant yellow ball of superheated plasma blazed down upon the roofless, black corvette, from out of a crystal blue sky, as it races down the sparsely occupied side street. A stunningly beautiful girl, with long red hair that streams out behind her, abruptly, but smoothly guides the pristine sports car to within inches of the curb as she comes to a stop. Slipping the car back into first gear she shuts the engine down as she sets the parking brake. A moment later she slips her foot of the clutch.

Plucking the keys out of the ignition Michael grabs the large leather duffel bag, that held nearly a weeks worth of his newly acquired clothes, from its spot on the passenger seat. Swinging the driver's side door open Michael, displaying far more confidence then he feels, slips out of the car. The black platform boots, it had taken him nearly four days to get use to wearing, add a few more inches to his petite five foot five frame as he stands in the middle of the road next to his car.

A denim jacket covers the black midriff top he was wearing. A top that when combined with the low riding pants he had on left over a foot of tender, young female flesh open to public view. A view that included his tight muscled abs, the long snout of the Chinese dragon tattoo, and the diamond studded hoop ring that pierced his naval. It had taken him quite a few hours but he had finally managed to get the thirteen earrings Madison wore in. Seven in the left ear, six in the right. A small silver cross now hung from around his neck, nestled just above his ample cleavage. A light sheen of make-up highlighting his slightly exotic features made him even more exquisite to those gazing upon him.

Standing in the middle of the road however he felt self-conscious in the tight, revealing clothes he now wore. He knew he shouldn't. He knew that the body he now possessed was, in a word, hot. It was the type of body that most men, not to mention quite a few women, would die trying to get their hands on.

In a way that was why he felt so uncomfortable. He had absolutely know desire to be ogled at by every ham fisted, beer swilling slob whose eyes happen to see his killer body. It wasn't like he had asked for it, or stole, or did anything other then be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He couldn't exactly go and get his body back since Madison, the bitch that had stolen it, had gotten herself killed within minutes of obtaining her desired possession.

At the same time, as much as it shamed him to admit it, he did want to be noticed. After all he did have this magnificent body. He wanted to look not just good, but exceptional. So long as the people doing the noticing were women. That was one thing he was extremely grateful for. Finding out his sexual orientation hadn't changed along with his body.

That was one of the few amusing aspects of this entire situation. Like Flotsam had pointed out, _"most teenage girls would be going through all kinds of angst discovering they were gay. For you Mikey it's got to be one of the greatest moments of your life."_

And it was. Being a woman, worse being a teenager again, was just going to take some time to get used to. It was something that he was coming to terms with, slowly to be sure, but he was making progress at accepting everything that it entailed good, bad, and indifferent.

That was why he had gone to the salon a day ago. First he had needed to get his hair out of the braids Madison had kept it in without hacking the fiery red locks off. Second he needed to learn how to apply make-up, nail polish, and a dozen or more things he hadn't even thought of. He had tackled the problem with all the grit and determination he assaulted any obstacle with. Six hours later, and nearly a thousand dollars poorer, he had walked out of the salon with nearly as much confidence in his ability to apply a coat of make-up as he had in retuning his corvette's engine. None.

With a deep sigh Michael slings his heavy duffel bag over his shoulder. Following the concrete walkway he makes his way to the front porch. Climbing the steps he taps the doorbell causing an actual bell sound to chime inside the house. He settles back on his heels as he waits for someone to answer the door. A minute or so later he presses the button again, and then again a few moments after that.

"Figures," he grumbles darkly while turning around. He drops his bag to the wooden floor. A moment later he plops down on the top step, "your life gets turned upside down, inside out, knocked off kilter, cock-eyed. You spend days traversing a continent and when you finally get to where you might be able to get some help there isn't anybody home." Michael complains as he settles into the classical thinker pose: feet separated, knees spread wide, shoulders slumped, back hunched over slightly, right elbow planted into his leg, head cock to the side supported by his right hand, left forearm draped across his knee. "It's official. My life sucks."

The erratic cadence of nearly a dozen clocks marking the passage of time with their rhythmic tick-tocking sound as their heavy counter weights swing, pendulum like, back and forth inside their wood, glass, or metal casings. The soft sound each clock made would have been relaxing if there had only been the one clock. With twelve clocks, not one in sync with the other eleven, it was like listening to a symphony of lunatics cackling loudly inside the antique shop.

It was a sound Michael found extremely reassuring as the door swings shut behind him. The cavernous front room was filled to bursting with glass display cases of every shape and size imaginable. It was a hodge podge of artifacts, relics, and trinkets both ancient and modern.

The shop was exactly how Michael remembered it, only with a completely different inventory then the last time he had been in the store. In all the years Michael had known the eccentric collector called Omiga the elderly man's collection was never static. His merchandise was always in a constant state of flux.

Michael easily glides through the narrow, maze like corridors the array of display cases created. Pushing the thick sleeves of the white sweatshirt up over his slender elbows he weaves his way around the glass cases as he searches for the shop owner, Omiga. Not that it was much of a search. The old man like always was at the back of his shop, sitting behind his massive wrap around desk.

The old man's intelligent, rat like green eyes had followed the incredibly beautiful girl from the moment she had first stepped through the stores front entrance. It wasn't unusual for people he didn't know to come into his shop. He did, after all, have a reputation for knowing things other people didn't know. The people who normally did step through his door looking for his services were; older, harder, with an edge of danger that this young, attractive girl just didn't possess. She was determined though. That was easy to see with the set of her jaw and the way she maneuvers her way through the shop as if she knew exactly where she was going.

Omiga could also tell the girl was trying to hide herself, with the baggy sweatshirt and the too large jeans she was wearing. It was as if she was ashamed with herself for some reason. Her features almost look too large in her small oval face. Her round, hazel eyes that glinted blue or green depending on how the light took them were her most prominent feature, followed closely by her deep bronze complexion, and her dark fiery red hair.

She was petite despite standing five and half feet tall. Her body was slim, narrow through the hips and shoulders, but long. She could almost be called sleek with curves in just the right places. As far as Omiga was concerned anybody that saw the girl for anything other then what she was, a brilliant beauty of a girl on the verge of blossoming into a radiant star was a blind fool.

If Omiga was the kind of man to make furtive wishes then right at that moment the hunched over old man would have fifty years taken off his seventy year old body for half a day. The lust filled thoughts pass out of his head nearly as quickly as they had entered it. Sighing softly he satisfies himself by simply watching her body sway as she makes her way to him.

Michael was watching Omiga watch him as he strolls up to the counter. He sees the glint in his shrewd eyes and the lazy half smile that cracks his leathery skin. Suddenly it felt like maggots were eating their way out of his guts as he realizes what the look was for. He had seen it often enough when he had taken the old man to breakfast or lunch and they would sit around admiring all the beautiful women they saw. Omiga would quite often keep a running commentary of what he was planning on doing with each and every one of them.

Having a man look at him as if he was a treat that he was getting ready to unwrap and enjoy disgusted him. Made him feel like ripping the persons head off and displaying it so all men would see what will happen to those fool enough to check him out. "What can I do for ya' missy?" Omiga inquires, his voice a rough, crackling, hoarse whisper.

Suppressing a groan Michael stops in front of the ancient mahogany wrap around desk Omiga sits behind. Reaching into the small hand bag, he had forced himself to take when he had finally left Jacob's blocky three story town house this morning when he had managed to finally pull himself together after the fiasco in the shower, he produces the intricately worked silver bracelet and linked rings. "What the hell is this?" He demands roughly, but his girlish voice makes the demand sound more like a whine, as he holds the finely wrought piece of jewelry out to Omiga in the of her long fingered hands.

Omiga's intelligent brown eyes go wide in fearful shock at the sight of the relic in the girl's small hand. Standing up he takes a step back while giving the impression of moving closer. His normally warm eyes are cold as he looks into Michael's multi-colored eyes. "Where did you get that?" His old voice not as brittle as it had been a moment before.

"It's just something that I found," Michael lies easily. He doesn't like the way Omiga's eyes light up as he looks at him.

"This isn't something you just find girlie," he rasps strongly. Straightening slightly the right corner of his lips twitched upwards, "not unless you happened to find it in a vault?"

"You know what it is or not?" Michael pushes hoping Omiga will just forget about where he had found the damn thing and just tell what the hell it is.

Omiga frowns at the girls response. "Put it down here," he snaps pointing to his heavily polished mahogany desk.

Michael hesitates for a moment before relenting and putting the artifact down on the desk. He didn't like the idea of letting the intricate ring and bracelet set out of his possession, but he didn't really see where he had that much of a choice in the matter. Omiga was a fount of information, obscure and trivial at times to be sure, but always vital. At seventy years of age his mind was as clear and sharp as it ever had been, but he had a habit of doling out his knowledge in little driblets and the more irritated he became the more infrequent his doling.

Omiga snorts as his gnarled fingers poke at the delicate device, "stuff of myth is what you got here."

"It's real enough," Michael mutters earning himself a sharp glance from the old man. "I'd imagine," he hedges slightly.

Omiga snorts at the girls comment before going back to his examination. He knew the girl was lying, or at least not telling him the truth. Not that he cared if she was or not. The only thing that concerned him was the knowledge.

"What is it?" Michael demands anxiously.

"A draconian katra," Omiga answers indifferently without looking up.

This time it's Michael's turn to snort, "and that helps me because I'm fluent in obscure references?"

The old man chuckles at the comment, "if you want to pick my brain girlie you're need something other then a sour tongue and hot temper."

Michael glares at Omiga, but the old man isn't even looking at him. He stares at him for nearly a minute while he does nothing more then fiddle with the odd piece of jewelry. "Fine," he sighs defeated. "What do you want?"

Omiga looks up, "what does any old man want from a pretty young girl?" Michael feels himself flush at the old man's suggestion. His temper rising just as fast as temperature, but before he's able to say or do anything Omiga continues with his request. "A simple kiss," he finishes modestly.

"A... A kiss?" A flustered Michael's fumbles. "You, you want me? To kiss you?" He finally manages to finish pointing back and forth between the two of them.

"You don't have to sound so disgusted," the old man grumbles angrily.

"I... I'm a tw- fifteen... You're like a seventy year old decrepit fossil," Michael splutters. It wasn't quite as bad as what he had originally thought Omiga was suggesting, but it was still kissing another man. It wasn't that he had anything against homosexuals, what two people wanted to do was none of his business, but the thought of him kissing another guy made him want to empty his stomach were he stood. Then it was like a light bulb coming on inside of his head, "I'm gay!" He practically shouts out in a relieved breath, "a lesbian, dyke, queer, homosexual. Whatever you want to call it that's what I am," he says proudly.

Omiga glares at the young girl beaming in front of him, "look if you don't want to give an old man a simple peck on the cheek then you don't have to," he cuts in gruffly. "And you didn't have to insult me by pretending to be gay," he adds in an ever harsher tone.

"I'm not," Michael answers in an ever frostier tone of voice. "I would never... I don't?" He asks in confusion. It wasn't like Omiga to just give up once we got something in his head.

The old man shakes his head, "no," he says pushing the katra back towards the young girl. "But just like with any transaction no payment no product," he informs her. "In other words no kiss, no info," he concludes with a smug little grin.

Michael gapes at the old man, "you little bastard!" He stammers angrily.

"With language like that I might have to charge you double," he responds with a foolish little chuckle.

"One kiss," Michael says quickly. "On the cheek, and if your information is just some diluted fairy tale you lose what's left of those pearly white teeth your so proud of."

Omiga smiles broadly, "kiss first information second," he states setting the terms of their agreement.

"I think I'm getting ripped off here," Michael grumbles as Omiga leans forward turning his head to the side. Summoning all of his courage Michael tilts his head up. Darting in quickly he places quick kiss on the old man's cheek having to fight his gag reflex the whole way in. Taking a step away from Omiga he uses the back of his hand to wipe off his lips. "I think I'm going to be sick," he mumbles softly to himself.

The old man harumps loudly as he settles back, "that's got to be the shortest kiss on record. To bad Guinness..."

"I told you already. I'm..."

"Right, right, right. Gay, lesbian, dyke. Got it," he interrupts her back.

Michael scowls at the old man. It had been so much easier to get information out of him when he had been a man. Buy him dinner, a little bit of booze, and a cheap, twenty dollar, whore and Omiga sang like a canary. A very happy, slightly inebriated canary, but still a canary. "The katra," he insist.

"It's use to transfer essences between bodies," he states as he sits back down in his comfy leather chair.

Michael waits for a minute. "That's it?"

"In a nutshell," Omiga replies with a slight nod.

Michael glowers at the old man, "that's not a hell of a lot of information."

"It wasn't that much of a kiss," Omiga tells her smugly.

Michael lowers his voice as he speaks again. His words come out in a harsh whisper, "what's the rest of the story?"

Omiga swallows at the deadly tone in the her voice, "there old," he says softly. "Nobody knows how old, when they were first created, what they were originally made for. There's a lot of speculation about them, theories, a few hints but nothing solid. The best guesses out there say they were originally made to extend a persons life, draining one persons life energy while giving it to the one wearing the katra only it didn't work right. Instead of draining a person's essence it switched them. Again useful in extending ones life. Jump into a young body, live in it until it begins to grow old and then switch again, again, and again. Virtual youth, never ending life. Who wouldn't sell their soul for something like? Some people think that is how some of the early empires lasted so long, just one ruler hoping from body to body. Then there are those that think these were originally created as tools for infiltration and assassination. Take the place of a trusted advisor, a personal servant. Somebody that would never be searched. The last time I heard of one in use was nearly three years ago. Some wanna be demon lord had it made for his pet assassin or some such thing."

Michael blinks as Omiga runs down. He had never heard the old man say so much at one time before. It sounded like another one of his fantastic stories he was always telling and if he hadn't experience it first hand he probably wouldn't have believed a word of what he had just said. "What do you know about the term slayer as it refers to mystical warriors chosen to fight the forces of darkness?" He inquires not sure if he wanted to know the answer or not.

Omiga shrugs, "that pretty much sums it up. Though there's this part about them only being young girls, one dies another's called or so the stories go. Demons think they're real but I've never had it confirmed from a source I trusted." Michael nods picking up the katra, "that isn't any good," Omiga says quickly. "See these links, how they've separated. Useless now."

Slipping the device back into his purse he withdraws the thousand dollars he had withdrawn from his account earlier in the day. "Thanks a lot old timer," he says tossing the roll of bills onto the desk top. With that he turns and walks away. The entire time he can feel the old man's eyes glued to his ass as he winds his way through the cluttered display cases.

Michael sits on the cold steel of Flotsam's countertop. He presses the heel of his hands into the hard surface as he drums his long nails into the underside of the lips edge. His feet swing back and forth slowly as he leans forward slightly.

Flotsam on the other hand leans his dark frame back into his overstuffed leather couch, his lanky body is almost engulfed within the thick cushions, with a smirk on his lips and a glint in his hard brown eyes. He watches the girl sitting on his countertop with curiosity, speculation, and just a little touch of mirth. She had shown up in his complex, bypassing his security with ease, and claimed to be one of his long time friends. She had spun a relatively simple story of a young girl who had used a device called a draconian katra that had put their minds in the other's body.

She knew details about his life, things he was positive Michael wouldn't have told a single living soul. It however didn't mean that she was telling the truth. It was far more likely that, despite her rather innocent appearance, she was effective at extracting information from people.

"You don't believe me?" Michael asks his long time associate.

Flotsam shrugs, "it's not that I don't want to believe you. It's just that that's quite a tale you got there," he says as he leans forward.

"If it didn't happen to me I wouldn't believe it either," Michael admits. "I'm not the kind of person that believes in this kind of stuff without proof. Me being in this body is that proof," he finishes hopping off the counter.

"Fine," Flotsam replies resting his forearms across his long, too thin legs just above his knees. "Lets say I believe you, that you are Michael. Why are you here? Why tell me?" He questions watching her as she pulls a couple of Michelob's from out of his fridge.

"Because I need your help," Michael says walking over to him. With barely any effort at all he twist the caps off the bottles. Handing one of them over to Flotsam he continues, "I need specialized weapons. That stuff that you made me before doesn't really work with this body, too big," he shrugs. "You're the best in the business when it comes to this stuff. You're the only person I trust," he finishes before taking a small swig from his beer. Over the past few days he was finding that his taste were changing almost as rapidly as his body had. He grimaces slightly at the beer's flavor. Looking down at the bottle in his hand he sighs softly.

"Wow," the tall man says mockingly wiping a false tear from his cheek. "That was so, so... I'm touched."

Michael's middle finger flips up as he leans back against the counter. "Besides I need a secure location to create myself. Set up accounts, transfer funds."

"So you're just using me," Flotsam jokes almost sounding hurt.

Michael smiles, "of course I am. But you're going to make a lot of money," he says as his smile turns into a devious grin.

Michael turns around as he hears the car pull into the driveway. He watches as the small red four door sedan comes to a stop. The man driving the economy sized car, Michael doesn't recognize. The two women on the other hand he had made sure to memorize their likeness during the four days he had spent at Flotsam's dwelling creating his new identity.

He smiles broadly watching the sister's climb out of the car. Seeing the older sister felt like having a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders. Of course there were also other things happening to him as his eyes drink in both women's beautiful bodies. Thankfully being aroused in a teenage girl's body wasn't anywhere near as noticeable as being aroused in a teenage boy's body. It was still no less uncomfortable if for an entirely different reason.

It was as he was walking down the concrete walk towards the group that he first paid any attention to the large man that had gotten out of the small car from behind the steering wheel. Michael found it slightly amusing at what he now considered a large man. In his old body he would have been a couple of inches taller then the over weight man scowling at him. He had obviously seen the way he had been looking at the women he considered his own and he didn't like it much.

Not that Michael cares. He simply ignores him, as he ignores Dawn for the moment so he can focus his attention on the shorter blonde, Buffy, as she smoothly, but quickly moves around the front of the car placing herself in front of the two people she cares for. Now all he had to worry about was weather or not Buffy was this legendary, mythical warrior known as the slayer. If she wasn't then he had no idea as to what to do next.

"Buffy Summers..." He begins.

"Yeah," Buffy answers, "who are..."

"...The slayer?" He finishes asking his question.

Buffy's face hardens at the title he just added to her name. Michael senses Dawn ready herself to move at a moments notice as the man's hulking frame suddenly looms over the two small women. "Who the hell are you?" She demands harshly.

Michael flinches slightly at her tone but it doesn't deter him, "my name's Madison Rose," he begins quickly falling into the cover story he spent a week making as real to himself as his own life was. "I was sent by my watcher."

"What?" The man blurts out a moment before Buffy asks.

"Why would he do that?" The tiny blonde questions suspiciously.

Reaching into his pocket he pulls out the slip of paper Wyatt Jacob had been holding when he found the body. "He was killed the same night I was attacked by half a dozen robe wearing lunatics," handing the paper to Buffy he continues. "This was clutched in his hand."

________________________________________________________________________

Carry On Wayward Son - Kansas

Once I rose above the noise and confusion  
Just to get a glimpse beyond the illusion  
I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high  
Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man  
Though my mind could thnk I still was a mad man  
I hear the voices when I'm dreamin', I can hear them say  
  
  
Carry on my wayward son,  
For there'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Now don't you cry no more  
  
Masquerading as a man with a reason  
My charade is the event of the season  
And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don't know  
On a stormy sea of moving emotion  
Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean  
I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say  
  
Carry on my wayward son,  
For there'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Now don't you cry no more  
  
Carry on, you will always remember  
Carry on, nothing equals the splendor  
Now your life's no longer empty  
Surely heaven waits for you  
  
Carry on my wayward son,  
For there'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Now don't you cry no more 


	4. Chap 4: Emotional Girl

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Chapter Four: Emotional Girl

Dawn gazes out the window watching Madison, she had changed out of her tight jeans into a pair of loose fitting black sweatpants. The lithe redhead was pushing herself through an intense knife form. Without using her hands Madison performs a flawless walkover, landing in a full split her daggers stabbing outwards into imaginary opponents. Her body moves like a finely oiled machine, everything in total sync. One arm gliding forward the other back, her legs move simultaneously with her arms, one front, one back, knees bending she tucks and rolls forward. Coming to her knees, daggers slashing upwards like a crazed windmill, she surges to her feet. Pivoting on her back foot she twirls around in a tight circle left arm slicing high while her right stabs low. With a barely perceptible glance over her shoulder Madison leaps into the air, twisting as she rises up, her right foot lashes in a precise round house kick. Continuing her mid-air spin her left leg kicks backward a moment before her right foot touches ground.

"Right," Buffy says into the portable telephone, "thanks," she finishes as she hangs up.

"Well?" Xander questions Buffy impatiently almost before she was off the phone.

Dawn turns away from window asking, "what'd the council have to say?" She couldn't help feeling sorry for the young girl in the back yard, but at the same time she felt like she had to stay on constant guard around Madison. As if the young girl was just going to attack her at any moment.

"Her story checks out," Buffy answers leaning against the polished door frame. "Her watcher was found dead just over a week ago. Travers had assumed she was dead as well, she vanished from New York the same day and only now turned up here."

Dawn glances to the side, over her shoulder and out the window as she sadly asks, "do they know how he died?"

Buffy nods her head as she replies with a soft, "yeah."

"I'm taking it natural causes not a big part?" Xander comments sarcastically. There was just something he instinctively didn't like about Madison. Something about the way she walked or talked that simply set his teeth on edge.

Buffy continues to look out the window at the young girl as she continues to work the complex knife form, a form that if not for her slayers powers she didn't think she would be able to duplicate without weeks of intense practice. "Not unless they've taken multiple stab wounds out of the murdered category," she replies sadly.

Now Xander allows his gaze to fall on the young girl in the back yard, "when you say stab you mean..."

"Knife through gut, slit throat," Buffy cuts in as she watches Madison while the young girl throws herself backwards even as her knife slices throat high through the air. "Travers said out of all the potentials she's the strongest one out there. Of course he also said she's willful, disobedient, and has caused more then a spot of trouble while she was with Jacob and he'd be grateful if I'd keep in eye on her until they could send out another watcher."

Dawn's head whips around, "she's staying here?"

Buffy nods, "for a little while."

Michael hits the ground hard, face first into the green grass. Instantly he hops back to his knees slamming his fist into the soft ground. It had been years since he had been unable to complete the complicated form he had used to win regional, national, and even a world championship all by the age of sixteen. Now with one little setback he could flush a twenty-four years worth of training down the drain.

__

"Do it again," Master Shui's thickly accented voice exhorts Michael as the teenager's balance shifts slightly. Not a lot but more then enough for the strict master to call him on it. "I've seen ten year olds hold a stance better then that. You at ten held it better. Now do it again, only do it right," the old Chinese master snarls viscously at his most talented pupil.

Michael stares balefully at the old man, breathing raggedly as sweat drips down his brow. At times like this Michael truly hates his instructor. "I'm doing the best I can," he hisses running his hand through his sweaty, short cropped dirty blonde hair.

Master Shui snorts, his hard breath disturbing the peace of his dark mustache. "You expect to make it to the regionals with a form of that caliber. You'll be lucky to get past the semi-finals with that crap, Now do it better!"

Michael whirls hurling the thick bladed dagger with enough force to embed the razor sharp blade up to its hilt in the bole of one of the trees, that dot the Summers' backyard, some twenty feet away. It had been years, nearly a decade since he had last seen his old instructor, and still the old mans voice dogged him no matter what he did. Nothing had ever been good enough for the old taskmaster, always demanding that he do everything better then he did even when he was doing his best.

Now that he was older Michael better understood the old man's harping. He wishes that they could have parted on better terms, but Master Shui didn't approve of Michael's plan of avenging his parents death. The old man had told him in no uncertain terms that if he went about with his scheme then he would receive no aid. Bitter words had been said on both of their parts. Words that couldn't, or wouldn't, be taken back since both men believed they were right.

Shaking himself out of his melancholy thoughts Michael walks over to the tree that now holds his dagger and tries to pull the blade free. Only the dagger doesn't budge from it's new home. "Need a hand?" Buffy asks from directly behind Michael.

Having not heard her approach, Buffy's sudden question causes the red hair girl to jump with a startled gasp, "Jesus." Michael spins around on Buffy angrily inquiring, "do you practice giving people heartaches or is something that just comes naturally?"

Buffy smiles able to look the light eye girl in the eyes because she was wearing platform boots while Madison had been training barefoot. "It's a talent," Buffy says moving the young girl out of her way.

Michael smirks as Buffy grabs hold of the hilt, "I really don't..." Buffy pulls the dagger free without so much as a hint of strain. Turning to face Madison she hands her back the dagger, "thanks," Michael replies coolly accepting the hilt.

Buffy takes a step towards the house before turning back around, arms folded over her chest. "I just got off the phone with the council," Michael blinks at the importance of the words he didn't understand. "They're going to be sending you another watcher as soon as one becomes available until then you're welcome to stay here," the slayer says turning back around.

"Tell them not to bother," Michael growls. "I'm more then capable of taking care of myself, and what I don't need is some stick up the ass Brit who knows squat about fighting trying to teach me how to defend myself." He knew he was taking a chance assuming this council of watchers was actually composed of Englishmen but he couldn't help it. Just the word watcher drove his temper to the edge. In a way he blamed Jacob nearly as much as he blamed Madison for the death of his body. If the old man had been even half as good at training her how to fight as he was at getting gutted in his own house then maybe he would still be in his body.

He didn't know why it was getting to him so much today, he was usually better able to hold his anger in check. True when it broke it was like standing in the path of a class five tornado, but actually getting it to break had always been harder to do then it was today. Shrugging off his more turbulent emotions, whatever was bothering him he'd figure it out eventually, he brings his attention back to Buffy.

"That was pretty intense, what you were doing earlier. Not exactly watcher certified though," Buffy comments watching the young girl stiffen at her words.

"I wouldn't have a clue what's watcher certified or not, my cousin taught me everything I know about fighting," he easily lies to Buffy.

Buffy sighs more then slightly annoyed with Madison, "look. You have an obligation to prepare yourself in case you're ever called. The world may one day be resting in your hands," she informs her. "Starting tomorrow I want to see working the drills I set..."

"Fuck you," Michael snorts. "Until you go out and win yourself a world championship you can take your drills and shove them up you ass," he says unable to stop the angry words from flowing out of his mouth.

"What was that?" Buffy questions as the redhead turns away from her wondering what Quentin Travers had meant when he said the girl was willful and headstrong not to mention disobedient. From what she could tell the girl was going to be handful, possibly even more then Faith had been.

"You heard me," Michael answers still walking away from Buffy unconcerned with weather she heard him or not.

Michael sits on the floor, head resting back against the bed, eyes sealed tightly shut trying to stem off the stream of tears that slide down his face. His knees were propped up, heels planted into the floor, and his thin, black electric guitar, with red flames jetting up the bottom half of the body and thin neck, resting in his lap. His fingers made a lazy cadence as they danced across the strings as he tried to halt the flow of tears leaking out from under his closed eyelids. No matter how hard he tried to stop crying the more the tears flowed. He never, ever broke down and bawled his eyes out like some little girl. Aside from the occasional flash of temper, he had never been someone that showed their emotions, at least he hadn't before he got stuck in the body of a fifteen year old girl.

The room belongs to someone that lived in the house, but wasn't staying here right now. Dawn had mentioned something about them being at a retreat in England recovering from a breakdown or something like that. He knew he should have been paying more attention while they had explained things to him. They had been generous enough to allow him to use the room during his stay, however long that was or until the room's occupant, a girl named Willow, returned from England.

A soft knock at the door was followed by the door opening quietly as Dawn sticks her head into what had been Buffy's room. "Hey," Dawn says cautiously seeing Madison sitting on the floor with cheeks wet from the tears streaming down her face. "You alright?" She asks stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.

"Just great, isn't it obvious?" Michael answers with biting sarcasm, then grimaces. "Sorry," he apologizes quickly looking up at Dawn. "I'm not usually this bitchy. Its just everything feels all, argh," he growls not knowing how to describe what he's feeling.

"Oh," Dawn says with sudden understanding as her eyes widen slightly. "That time of the month," she adds nervously.

Michael looks up at her with confusion, "what the hell are you talking about?"

"You've never..." Dawn stops embarrassed at even having broach the subject. How was she suppose to go about asking a girl, that has quite possible never had her period, if she was having her period.

"I've never what, Dawn?" Michael asks suddenly worried about whatever it was that Dawn was having problems trying to ask him.

"You know that time, comes once a month, last about three days, all mothers talk to their daughters about it, doctors ask lots of embarrassing questions on the subject, and you still have no clue what I'm talking about do you?"

Michael shakes his head, "parents died when I was six. Michael took me in until I was nine, from witch point I was raised by Wyatt. Visits to the doctor were never that big a part of my life, unless I was seriously ill," he tells her impatiently. "So whatever it is your trying to say just say it please," he practically pleads.

"Menstruating," Dawn rushes out still finding the topic disturbing. She had been chagrined when, at thirteen, her mother had decided it was time to discuss female issues with her. Just like six months later when she had her period for the first time, it was the most mortifying experience of her life.

"Hugh?" Michael asks eloquently.

Dawn rolls her eyes as she mumbles, "god is it a requirement for slayers to be as dense as a block of granite," loud enough to be heard by the young girl whose long fingers continue to move up and down the fret board. "PMS. Your period," she says meaningfully to Madison and a sound like a dozen cats being skinned alive jumps out of the small amp as a look of pure horror blooms over Madison's face before it hardens like somebody getting ready for battle.

After a moment the music begins flowing out of the amp once again. This time it takes on a deeper tone, a more morbid, almost funereal quality as Madison drags every once of misery out of each note she can before moving onto the next. Dawn listen in as the young girl mumbles, "I can handle this. Knew it was going to happen eventually, but why now, why not later. Much, much, much later," her words were soft, some so soft that Dawn couldn't even hear them, but when she can't she can fill in the missing words with her own imagination.

Deciding to take pity on Madison and offer her what support she can Dawn sits down next to her. Wrapping her arm around Madison's shoulders Dawn says, "its not that bad. All of us go through it, and in a few days you'll be back to yourself. Which for you might not be any different," she jokes lightly trying to cheer Madison up.

Michael looks at Dawn with something close to terror flashing through his eyes as she first puts her arm around his shoulder giving him a gentle hug, he had completely forgotten she was in the room with him. Then he felt a not so gentle stirring deep in his core. Letting his head fall back onto the mattress he groans softly as he mentally berates himself for his body's reaction to Dawn. After all she was a sixteen year old girl where as he was a twenty eight year old man trapped in the body of a fifteen year old girl. All the time he listens to what she's saying which causes him to laugh which threatens to send him into a fresh fit of sobs. "God don't make me laugh, I'll start bawling my eyes out again," he breathes out in a ragged breath.

"Got a smile though," Dawn replies with a soft laugh before becoming serious again. "This is your first time, hugh?"

Michael shudders, "it's that easy to tell?"

"Hey just think. This could just be stress, normal teen angst, or the beginnings of something like bi-polar disorder," Dawn suggest happily.

Michael gapes at her before shaking his head, "your just a font of rosy information aren't you?"

Dawn smirks as she replies, "just trying to keep things in perspective."

Michael grins still enjoying the feel of Dawn's soft body pressed against his. Coming to a decision he becomes serious as he turns slightly so he can look at Dawn, "there's something I need to tell you and I'm hoping you don't freak out because of it," he says honestly.

"This sounds serious," Dawn responds shifting to face Madison.

Michael nods, "it is," he replies nervously. Having to tell somebody he was going to be living with that he was gay was infinitely harder then blurting it out to someone that he was never going to see again. There was also the fact that he still thought of himself as a man, no matter how many times he saw himself naked. Saw his breasts, his vagina, his lack of a penis, he still saw himself as a him.

"Whatever it is Madison, I promise I'm not gonna freak out," Dawn vows smiling warmly.

Michael takes a deep breath, exhales slowly then inhales again, "I'm gay," he says in a rush waiting for the eruption he was sure was about to happen any moment. Only there was no eruption.

Instead Dawn simply, calmly asks, "how long have you known?"

Michael blinks at her response. It was far from the reaction he had been expecting. Without thinking he answers Dawn's question by saying, "I've always been attracted to a pair of tits in a nice tight mini skirt," he then blinks and he can feel himself color at the words that had just slipped out of his mouth. After a moment he adds, "not quite the reaction I had envisioned."

Dawn shrugs, "you expected me to go screaming from the room?"

"Pretty much."

"Sorry I was raised by two lesbians for over a year, plus there was that time Buffy and Faith were hanging out all the time," Dawn comments blandly as she watches Madison's face light up slightly. "Don't go getting your hopes up. Buffy's about as straight as they come."

Michael smirks, a mischievous little grin slipping across his lips as he asks, "what about you?"

Dawn colors slightly, using her long hair to hide her face, she rises to her feet. Aside from one vampire she had never had anybody hit on her so blatantly before. She quickly walks to the door and stops as she opens the it, "I just came up to tell you suppers almost done. Buffy's cooking so you might want to skip it," she says before slipping out of the room.

Buffy hears Madison's soft footfalls as she comes to a stop a few feet behind her after entering the kitchen. "Something you want?" She questions shortly, still angry despite Dawn's explanation.

Michael suppresses a start. He didn't know how she had heard him, he had thought he was being as quiet as he had ever been. Pushing his surprise to the side he flippantly begins answering her question, "for my enemies to suffer an agonizing fate before meeting a gruesome death. And to say I'm sorry, not about what I said, but how I said it to you. You're just trying to help..."

"Listen," Buffy cuts in as she turns around to face Madison. "Dawn told me what's going on. I'm not saying its an excuse, but with everything else you've been going through. It's understandable. So this is what I suggest, take a few days, catch your breath. Then we go out and see what you got."

Michael shrugs, "I just want to find the bastards that gutted Michael," he snarls savagely. Then as an after thought he adds, "and killed Jacob."

"Michael?" Buffy inquires thinking it might have been her boyfriend.

"My cousin," he replies softly the lie burning his throat causing his voice to catch giving the statement more emotion.

Buffy's eyes widen at the answer remembering what she had said earlier, "the one that taught you how to fight?"

Michael nods slightly, "he was with me when they attacked," he says with a quiet hardness.

"They killed him," Buffy states sadly remembering what it felt like having found her mother's body after she died. She had absolutely no idea what it would have felt like to have been present when her mother had passed away, helpless to prevent it from happening. It was rather impressive that it had only taken her a week to get here from New York.

Michael nods his head once as he answers, "none of them survived him long," he says grimly.

The tiny slayer watches a single tear roll down the young girls hard face, "I'm sorry," she states not able to think of anything else to say.

"If you don't mind I'm going to go wash up for dinner," Michael excuses himself again leaving without a reply from Buffy.

Supper was going well so far as Buffy was concerned, Xander like normal was having dinner with Summers sisters. It was a rather subdued group sitting around the dinner table enjoying the meal consisting of meatloaf, mash potatoes, and string beans. Madison had been quiet, hardly touching the food on her plate, just moving it from one spot to another. Dawn for some reason kept glancing at Madison from across the table without saying anything and without trying to look to obvious. Buffy tried filling the silence up with meaningless chit chat, only the moments of silence drag on a little bit longer after each of her comments.

"That's a nice car out there," Xander remarks suddenly trying to draw Madison into a conversation.

"The 'vette?" Michael questions barely aware of the conversation.

"Yeah the black one out front," Xander continues not even waiting for Madison to nod her head before going on. "Seems a little expensive for someone your age to own?" He questions suggestively.

Hearing the innuendo in Xander's voice Michael replies naturally with a light shrug, "you'd be surprised what you can get for a good screw these days." Xander blubbers for a moment his face going red, Buffy chokes slightly on mouthful of meatloaf, while Dawn covers her mouth with her hand as she covers up her laugh with a fake cough. "I'm sorry," Michael apologizes, "that was kind of rude of me. Just blurting that out, no manners what so ever."

"That's okay," Xander gasps after taking a deep gulp of water.

"Truth is I rolled some guy for twenty bucks and his car keys," he sates with dead seriousness as Xander is taking another drink of water. He smiles victoriously as Xander swallows to quickly and coughs slightly. "Sorry," he apologizes again. "I don't know whats coming over me. I better go before I say something truly embarrassing," he says getting from the table leaving a choking Xander, a slightly shocked Buffy, and a smiling Dawn in his wake.

________________________________________________________________________

Emotional Girl - Terri Clark

I've been looking at you looking me  
Bet you're thinking that what you get  
Is what you see  
But underneath this cool exterior  
A raging river flows  
So before you get any nearer  
I better let you know  
  
  
I'm an emotional girl  
I can't help myself  
Sometimes I laugh  
Sometimes I cry  
Sometimes I do both and I don't know why  
I got a Passionate heart  
And that's just the way things are  
You and me could give it a whirl  
But I'm warning you, boy  
I'm an emotional girl  
  
I like music that's loud and lights down low  
I like driving my car too fast  
And dancing slow  
Some folks may say I? too extreme  
?ause I can? stop once I start  
But I never could do anything  
With half my heart  
  
I'm an emotional girl  
I can't help myself  
Sometimes I laugh  
Sometimes I cry  
Sometimes I do both and I don't know why  
I got a Passionate heart  
And that's just the way things are  
You and me could give it a whirl  
But I'm warning you, boy  
I'm an emotional girl  
  
  
  
I'm an emotional girl  
I can't help myself  
Sometimes I laugh  
Sometimes I cry  
Sometimes I do both and I don't know why  
I got a Passionate heart  
And that's just the way things are  
You and me could give it a whirl  
But I'm warning you, boy  
I'm an emotional girl  
  
You and me could give it a whirl  
But I'm warning you, boy  
I'm an emotional girl


	5. Chap 5: Man in the Mirror

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Chapter Five: Man In the Mirror

Dawn ducks her head into the Buffy's old room, the room that was going to be Willow's when she returned. Right now though it was the room that Madison was going to be using while she stayed with them. Her back was to the door, her guitar strap over her left shoulder, a pair of headphones in her ears as she alternated between picking and strumming a dizzying tempo. Her fingers blazing up and down the fret board, gliding between bass and tenor as easily as she drew breath. It was the kind of beat that would make people want to get up and dance despite the fact that it was clearly hard rock, it just had that infectious rhythm that made you want to move your feet.

Her fiery red hair was loose for a change, hanging to the middle of her back. It was slick with sweat as she moved her bare feet in time to the soft, yet driving music that was being pumped out of the amp. Her upper body moved in time with the rhythm that she was playing, the hard driving beat seeming to control her as she lost herself in the music she was playing.

As she begin to sing her voice was soft, hesitant. Dawn thought it sounding like Madison wasn't sure what her voice was going to sound like. "We came here to entertain you. Leaving here we aggravate you. Don't you know it means the same to me, honey." Despite the fact that her voice was barely audible it was crystalline in tone, a rich distinctive tenor, each word clearly understandable as it flowed out of her mouth. As she continued singing the words gained in intensity and melded into the rhythm her guitar playing had created. "I'm the one, the one you love. Come on baby, show your love. Hey, give it to me. I see a glow that fills this room. I see it rolling out of you. Feed her your message from above. I'm tellin' you, ow. Show. Come on and show your love, ah, yeah. Ow, woo, oh, show, show your love babe, ah, yeah. Show it, ow."

She stopped singing and once again simply lost herself in the music she was playing. Her fingers moving like quicksilver over the fret board as they struck, bent, held, and manipulated the strings to create the sounds she wished. Her body moving, swaying, rocking to the music that poured out of the amp. Dawn was simply mesmerized by the display of raw passion that Madison was displaying before her, she was fairly certain that if she was never called as a slayer the petite redhead definitely had a shot in the music industry. Then her voice picked up the second verse with the same intensity she had ended the first, "look at all these little kids. Takin' care of the music biz. Don't their business take good care of me. Honey, I'm the one the one you love, come on baby, show your love. Hey, give it to me. I see a glow that fills this room. I see it rolling out of you. Feed her your message from above. I'm telling you, ow. Show. Show your love babe, ah, yeah. Ow, whoo, woo, show. Show your love babe, ah, yeah. Show me."

For nearly thirty seconds her fingers danced up and down the strings reaching dizzying heights before striking even higher. Then her fingers clamp down on the strings killing the music in an instant. Sound didn't stop though. Her voice picked with a simple, "whoo, Bop bada, shoobe doo wah, bop bada, shoobe doo wah, bop bada, shoobe doo wah, bop bada, shoobe doobe doobe doo wah, bop bada, shoobe doo wah, bop bada, shoobe doobe doobe doo wah, bop bada, shoobe doo wah, bop bada, shoobe doo wah, whoo." As suddenly as she had started the be-bob she stopped and her fingers once again set fire to her guitar.

Dawn wasn't sure how long she stood there, having simply lost herself in the performance Madison had put on for her even if she didn't know she was performing for someone. As the music fades Dawn comes back to herself. Deciding that now would be an appropriate time to announce her presence she claps approvingly.

Michael looks over his shoulder, only slightly surprised to see Dawn standing just inside the doorway. Keeping his startlement at her presence hidden he turns around to face the brunette playing the opening bridge to Heart's Crazy on You. "Hey," he mouths as way of greeting.

Dawn steps into the room still smiling from ear to ear. "You're really good with that," she says stating the obvious as far as she was concerned. She's amazed to see her minor compliment cause the confident girl to blush.

Michael shrugs unable to believe the heat he feels rising in his cheeks, "its just something I do to will away the time," he says modestly.

"Please!" Dawn gasps exasperated with the younger girl's radical shifts in attitude. One moment arrogent and cocky. The next reserved and vacillating, "that was good..."

"That was somebody else's work," he tells her. His voice sounding a little harsher then he had intended. "Someone else wrote that piece of music. Played it, poured their heart and soul into giving it live. Making it something I'd want to learn," he tells her passionately. His voice is full of self-deprecation when he speaks again a few seconds later, "all I had to do was come along later and memorize notes, chord changes, beats, rhythms..."

"But it still takes skill to play it like you did," Dawn cuts in tired of listening to Madison berate her own talent.

Michael rolls his shoulders as he turns in a slow circle to avoid Dawn's intense glare. Going from experiences he had in dealing with women he decided to change the subject instead of swaying her around to his point of view. From everything he had learnt over the years once a woman got in idea stuck in her head getting it out again was about as easy as demolishing a skyscraper with your barehands. It could be done, but it was hardly worth the effort trying involved. "Since I doubt you stopped in to praise me on my unparalleled virtuosity," he begins bitingly, "what did bring you to my temporary abode?" He finishes asking as he slips the strap from his shoulder.

"Well," Dawn begins hesitantly as she watches Madison move around the room. Leaning her guitar against the wall by the headboard, her long legs carrying her across the floor to where she turns her small amp off. "I was watching you before," she rushes out only to stop as Madison turns her large eyes on her. A smirk curving her lips into the semblance of a smile, "not like that," she blurts out quickly. "When you were outside training," she clarifies.

"Ah," Michael states knowingly as he turns back to the window he had been opening a moment before. Shoving it the rest of the way up he tantalizingly inquires in a voice just short of being sultry, "so you see anything you like?" Pulling a cigarette out of his pack he misses seeing Dawn brighten several shades.

"I wanted you to teach me..."

"Teach you what," he teases lightly, igniting his cigarette, devil may care smirk plastered to his lips as he watches Dawn's color rise once again.

"How to fight," Dawn finally manages to blurt out under Madison's smoldering eyes.

Michael flicks his ash out the window, "of coarse," he answers. Taking a drag off his cigarette he asks playfully, "now why didn't you just say that to begin with?"

Dawn growls low in her throat exasperated with the young girl's antics. Turning on her heel she storms out of the room in a huff. Michael lets out a relieved breath once she's out of the room trying to think of some way out of having to train her now that he's agreed. It wasn't that he didn't want to train her, or spend time with her.

Fact was he did, too much so. No matter how he looked at it he was an almost twenty-eight year old man while she was a sixteen year old girl. Now if Buffy was showing signs of interest in him... But she was twenty-two and he was fifteen.

Crushing his half spent cigarette out he throws himself onto the bed more frustrated with each passing second. With the way his mind was working around the problem he thought the next time he had a shot of getting laid was a good three years in the future. Groaning softly he silently curses Madison, katra devices, god, fate, and just about anybody, or anything else that pops into his head.

"That's it," Michael encourages Dawn as she moves forward hitting the stance he had taught her earlier. He had been with her for nearly an hour and half now, ever since Buffy had left for work.

__

Almost immediately after the blonde had left, Dawn came bonding into his room. The room in which he had been up until five in the morning playing his guitar till his fingers were raw. At nine in the morning he was hardly a barrel of sunshine at being woken up after only four hours worth of sleep.

He was, in simplest terms, a bitch. Snapping lightly at the slightest thing Dawn said. He couldn't help it. Yesterday, earlier this morning, his emotions had been bouncing around like a superball on acid, and while that hadn't changed in the least,_ there was also this languid feeling sapping his limbs of strength as well as a slight pain shooting through his abdomen as deep muscles tightened spasmodically. Worst yet he could feel a sticky substance covering his upper thigh and groin. He was still able to feel the warm fluid seeping out from between his legs._

Dawn had taken one look at the horrified expression that blossomed on the girl's face and knew exactly what had happened. She quickly bundled Madison into the bathroom, set up the shower, and allowed her to wash in peace. Before leaving the bathroom though she had set out the box of tampons hoping Madison was able to figure out how to use them because she was fairly positive she would die of mortification if she had to demonstrate how they were applied.

Michael had simply allowed himself to be swept up in a daze, gathering the clothes Dawn had instructed, and following her to the bathroom. After Dawn had left the adequately sized washroom he simple stood in the middle of the floor. This was just the latest in a long series of shocks that kept driving the fact back to the forefront of his mind with the force of a piledriver. He was no longer a man, he was a woman and the sooner he accepted that fact the quicker he could get on with his life.

Coming back to himself with a start he realizes he's simply been standing there while the steaming water blankets the room in a thick fog. Stripping out of his clothes he steps under the spraying water. Numbly, he showers trying to scrub his body clean. For the first time since Madison stole his body trapping him in hers he didn't feel the usual stirrings of arousal he had every other time he had bathed. Something he had thought would have been comfort just a few minutes ago was now nothing but one more oddity in a life suddenly riddled with the bizarre.

"And again," he calls out and Dawn moves forward as he had shown her. "Punch," he commands. Dawn immediately strikes out with a basic front punch, nodding slightly he says, "good. Enough."

Dawn nearly collapses to the ground after Madison calls a stop to the torture she calls training. Placing her hands on her knees the brunette pants heavily for oxygen as sweat drips from her brow. When she had first asked Madison to teach her how to fight she had been expecting training like how Buffy had taught her: punching the heavy bag, a few simple techniques, and some free sparring.

This was nothing like that. This was all about stances, proper low stances. Stances that after holding for five minutes had left the muscles in her legs burning so badly she hoped someone would come along and chop the offended appendages off. That had been forty-five minutes ago and while they hadn't worked on stances the whole time it certainly felt like it to her.

Madison had started the lesson off with what she called light calisthenics; jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, and then a very aerobic stretch that left Dawn bathed in sweat, but feeling loose and limber. The young brunette had thought she was flexible before she started, then she saw Madison stretching and suddenly she felt almost as supple as a wooden horse. The entire time the fiery redhead had encouraged her, pushing her beyond what she had thought she was capable of with words kind and patient.

"So how was it?" Michael inquires handing Dawn a water bottle.

She takes the bottle gratefully, upending it over her head. Finally managing to pour some of the luke warm liquid down her throat she swallows greedily. After nearly half a minute of dumping water over her face and head, she lowers the bottle to her side. "Different then what Buffy has me do," Dawn admits as she explains what Buffy was having her do.

Michael nods his head as he turns away from Dawn. Other images of the brunette, with water cascading over her partially clad body, flashing through his head. "Buffy never had any formal training?" He questions sitting down on the ground leaning his back against the trunk of a tree.

"Just what the watchers give you guys," Dawn replies with a shrug. Walking over to the tree Madison is leaning against she gingerly plops down next to the redhead. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"She teaches how she was taught, I teach how I was taught," Michael tells her.

Dawn frowns as she chews on her lower lip. After a moment she asks, "I thought you guys were all trained the same way."

Michael face takes on a neutral expression as he says, "all my training was done a long time before I ever met Jacob," he answers a sad, bitter edge tinting his voice. With a shake of his head he hops back up, "come on," he says heading towards the house.

"What?" Dawn calls out as she stands despite the severe protestations her muscles shoot throughout her body.

Michael turns around for a second still walking backwards as he says two simple words, "supply run," before turning back around and disappearing inside the house.

Dawn follows Madison into the house at a more sedate pace. She had a nervous feeling that what Madison had called a supply run somehow involved the black corvette the younger girl had arrived in. As she nears the house a sudden thought pops into her head, it was something that people should have asked previously. Madison was only fifteen years old, yet she had driven cross country to get here, and unless laws across the country had been changed in ways she hasn't been informed of, Madison had broken laws from one side of the continent to the other.

Now she was planning on breaking them in California. As Dawn walks into the house half a minute after Madison the thought of breaking a few laws with the younger girl fills her with a sense of excitement. A rush she's never felt before.

"There we go," Michael states spotting what he was looking for.

"Where?" Dawn asks looking up the road as she turns the volume down on the song blasting out of the speakers. It was some ancient hard rock number she had never heard before. The singer was going on about how the boys were back in town with lyrics like, "this girl was hot, I mean she was steaming," and, "the beer will flow and the blood will spill so if the boys wanna fight you better let 'em," or, as Giles would likely say, some such drivel.

She looks where Madison is pointing at a twenty-two, maybe twenty-three year old collage student walking down the same side of the street they were driving down. His dark brown hair was long, scraggly, and in need of a good washing just as his pointed goatee was in need of a good trim. The white t-shirt he was wearing, while having a few stains on it, for the most part look cleaned as did the almost brand new jeans he wore. The white tennis shoes on the other hand were filled with holes and the sole on the left one flopped crazily every time he took a step.

Dawn glances at Madison, "you can do a lot better then that," she informs the redhead as Madison pulls up to the curb. Madison gives her a reproachful look as she puts the Corvette in neutral before setting the parking brake. Pulling her wallet out of the door holder she slips out of the open window sitting on the door frame.

"Hey you!" She hears Madison shout from above before whistling sharply. "Yeah, you. Come here," she commands expecting to be obeyed. Dawn watches wide eyed as the man in question walks up to the car.

Dawn can hear them talking but she can't make out what their saying over the radio and the everyday noise from off the street. Instead of trying to listen in on their conversation she turns her head to study Madison openly while there isn't a chance of the younger girl catching her sneaking furtive peeks at her. She had change out of the sweatpants and black tank top from this mornings workout into an outfit not too dissimilar from the one she had arrived in yesterday. Today's assemble consisted of a dark forest green midriff top and low-riding, hip-huggers that were such a dark purple they were almost black. One of the differences between today and yesterday was today Madison had forgone the make-up she had worn previously.

She had to admire the younger girl. Madison wasn't going to let a little thing like getting her period for the first time keep her from going out, or looking her best doing it. Dawn knew she would never be able to get dressed in anything half as skimpy or revealing while she was on the rag.

She was beginning to understand that was how Madison functioned. The redhead had to be strong, had to be the best and she couldn't show anybody anything different. In a way she was a lot like Buffy. Unlike her older sister Madison had a tendency to flare up occasionally venting her pent up frustrations.

Sitting through her open car window, as she flirts with guy, the muscles of her abdomen would bunch together then expand as she talks, moves, breathes. Dawn's eyes latch onto the subtle movement, the Dragon's dark eye winks at her knowingly with each inhalation. It smirks every time Madison exhales. She can feel her breath quicken, her heart race as she ponders what the skin of Madison's sleek stomach would feel like under her soft fingers. Would she feel like the softest silk barely covering hardened steel. Would the dragon's scales feel rough like sandpaper or would they be smooth to the touch? If she tweaked Madison's naval ring would she gasp with pleasure?

Leaning forward she stretches out her hand. Her fingertips hover a hairs breadth from the smooth flesh she wants to touch. Her hand trembles lightly as she moves closer still...

"Hey!"

Dawn jerks back to reality with a sharp jolt as Madison's voice breaks the vivid daydream. "What?" She squeaks feeling heat flush her face as she looks into Madison's large doe like eyes as she leans in through the window. The younger girl was staring at her with something like impatience. Dawn simply wanted to find a deep, dark, dank, hole to crawl into right now. She was just glad it had been a fantasy and she hadn't been reaching out for real. That would have been something she would not like to have to explain.

"Want anything?" Michael asks her curious as to why she suddenly looks like she spent the day sleeping at the beach.

Dawn shakes her head answering Madison with a strangled, "no," hoping she would look anywhere but at her.

"You sure?" He inquires softly worry evident in his voice.

Dawn nods her head as she manages an almost normal sounding, "yes." Madison continues to look at her anxiety shinning in her soft hazel eyes for a moment before popping back out the window. Dawn lets out the breath she didn't realize she had been holding while the redhead had been looking at her.

With a supreme effort she cast her gaze down at the floor, away from where she truly wanted to be looking. She couldn't believe she had been checking Madison out. Fantasizing about what she would feel...

Slamming her eyes shut Dawn cuts off that line of thought. She needed someone to talk to. Someone that would be able to give her advice about what was going on. Someone that would understand the turmoil she felt right now. She wishes Willow was here for...

"Hey," Madison's concerned voice cuts into her thoughts as she rest a strong hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Dawn nods her head without opening her eyes.

"Are you sure? Because honestly Dawn, you look kinda freaked," her melodious voice remarks offering Dawn what comfort it can.

Dawn opens her eyes, looking up at Madison, "yeah... Could you take me someplace after you're done here?" She pleads.

"Sure," Michael answers instantly feeling a desire to help her, but unsure of what to do.

Ducking her down so she's not looking at Madison she explains, "there's just somebody I need to talk to."

Michael nods his head, "whatever you need. You just let me know and it's yours," he vows to her.

Dawn looks up smiling at her, "thank you."

Michael returns her smile with one of his own. "Whatever you need," he says wiping away the tear rolling down her cheek with a gentle stroke of his thumb.

A soft, gentle breeze blows its way over the small clearing. The bright green grass was far too short to be disturbed by its passing. A few people are scattered about the small cemetery, staying to themselves mostly or gathered in tiny groups of twos maybe threes, but seldom as many as four. This, like all graveyards, was a solemn place full of those seeking solace, to grieve in peace undisturbed, or to visit a friend taken too soon from those who loved them.

"Hey," Dawn greets Tara as she kneels down on the ground in front of the headstone unconcerned about the grass that might stain her white jeans. "Sorry about not being around more, but... Its hard. Not having you with us," she says placing a hand on the warm stone. "Willow's in England, Giles says she getting better. But you probably know that don't you."

She sighs closing her eyes, "just like you probably know why I'm here." She begins opening her eyes, "I know, I'm a horrible person only coming to see you when I'm in an emotional meltdown, but you were always the person I could talk to. Well you and Spike, but we're so not going there today, not that you don't know that as well."

She takes a deep breath trying to order her thoughts. She needs to explain this to Tara, not just blurt it all out in a rush, but to explain it right. She didn't want to insult Tara, or belittle her friend by trying to justify what might be false feelings, or worse emotions spawned simply because Madison was being nice and paying attention to her.

"See there's this girl. She just showed up on our doorstep the other day," she starts off a slow smile creeping across her lips. "She's funny, smart, more then a little cynical, has an attitude a mile long, and the music she listens to, plays, is so dated you'd expect Spike or Giles to be into, besides that she's so far beyond weird its not even in the same zip code, but nice in a in your face kind of way.

"She's a potential slayer. Someone tried to kill her. Did kill her watcher and her cousin so she came here looking for help, sanctuary I guess. And God what kind of person am I, forming a crush on a girl whose just lost everything she's ever cared for. All because I know she's a lesbian and she's been nice to me."

Taking another deep breath to relax herself and stop the rant she was on Dawn realizes she was doing what she didn't want to do. She was blurting things out and going off on disjointed rants. She needed to get back on track, get back to what she desperately needed to discuss with Tara.

"Could I really handle another label. I mean people still see me as the freak, the girl who sliced her wrist open," She stops again as the memory of that awful day pops back into her head. The day she found out she was nothing more then a ball of green energy wrapped in a human wrapper. Shuddering she takes a deep breath as she opens her eyes and pushes the memory away. It was done and over with. She was here and she was a real girl. That was the only thing that she cared about, not how she came into existence.

"I'm still the girl being raised by her older sister and a pair of lesbians. I hear the kids at school, what they say, the jokes they tell. I don't know if I could take that being said about me. It's cowardly and weak and you'd be so disappointed in me." She stops as she truly thinks about what Tara would say to her, "No you wouldn't," she corrects herself. "You'd tell me that every person has to be true to themselves and let me find my own path. Whatever that may be."

Michael winds his way through the graveyard. From what Dawn had told him it was the newest and the smallest of Sunnydale's thirteen cemeteries. The number had surprised him. Sunnydale wasn't that large of a town which meant it had to be an old town.

When he made that observation to Dawn she had informed him the town was just over a hundred years old. Then she told him Sunnydale sat on top of a Hell Mouth and had a death rate that could compete with most large cities. He had been dumbfounded to say the least, unable to think up a proper response. He wanted to know what the proper response to something like that was, especially when you didn't know what a Hell Mouth was to begin with.

He had dropped Dawn off at the grave she wanted to visit. A woman by the name of Tara Maclay, Willow's lover, and someone Dawn cares for deeply. Wanting to give her as much space as possible Michael had grabbed his denim jacket, a couple of bottles of his Long Island Ice Teas, a pack of Camel Cigarettes and left Dawn alone. Leaving his Corvette parked near her he had headed off deeper into the cemetery.

Setting his second bottle of Long Island Ice Tea on a headstone he pulls his pack of cigarettes from his denim jacket's inside pocket. Packing the cigarettes before opening them he looks around the graveyard. At the row upon row of headstones splayed out before him. Some made from white marble, some granite or concrete, large altaresque structures, some standing as high as his chest, to small plaques sunk in the ground.

Everybody here had one thing he was never going to have. The decency of being buried with their proper name donating who was resting in the ground underneath. Even his body wasn't going to have that. Instead buried in an unmark grave like some nameless vagabond just so nobody had the chance to take the fortune he had spent a decade building.

He lights his cigarette with small trembling hands. Her hands. The hands that had caused him to suffer one degradation after another. Wishing he had her before him right now so he could rip her apart he picks up his drink and takes a stiff pull off the liquor filled bottle. As the cold liquid settles in the pit of his stomach, sending a warm chill throughout his body he knows he wants to do nothing more then get good and drunk tonight.

He wanted to get so drunk that when he looked at himself in a mirror tonight he would be able to see the face of the man he was. Not the face of this bitch who had taken everything from him. Twirling around he strides purposefully back in the direction he had come. He had a mission to complete tonight and nothing was going to stand in his way from accomplishing his objective. And if anyone tried then he'd just have to teach them the folly of their action.

________________________________________________________________________

Man In the Mirror - Savatage

There's a man that I used to know  
And sometimes he still visits with me  
When it's late and the alcohol's glow  
Is nearly gone  
And it's time to awaken  
  
And he looks and he laughs at the sight  
And he asks what has happened to me  
And I blame it all on the lights  
But he smiles and says i'm mistaken  
And there is no use in disguising  
What the eye can so clearly see  
That i've spent my whole life denying  
That the man in the mirror is me  
  
Give me one second chance  
Give me one final dance  
Give me one magic line  
Take a minute off my time  
  
Give me one final bow  
If the moment allows  
While he stares at the scars  
Saying just who you are  
Just who you are  
Just who you are  
  
In a child like illusion of life  
He imagined the things yet to be  
But they all disappeared on this night  
Carry on among the forsaken  
  
For there is no use in denying  
What the eye can so clearly see  
That one day I too will be dying  
And the man in the mirror agrees  
  
Give me one second chance  
Give me one final dance  
Give me one magic line  
Take a minute off my time  
  
Give me one final bow  
If the moment allows  
While he stares at the scars  
Saying just who you are  
Just who you are  
Just who you are  
Just who you...


	6. Chap 6: Pour Me

__

Chapter Six: Pour Me

The heavy rhythms of Madison's electric guitar pound through the house. It had been like this for over an hour now, ever since the two teenagers had arrived back home. Madison had stormed through the house with a murderous glint in her eyes as she carried a large wooden crate full of various wine coolers up to her room. Locking the door she had effectively shut Dawn out. A few minutes later the first frantic notes began pouring out of the room.

She had been extremely quiet and moody on the drive home. Dawn had attempted to engage her in conversation, tried to draw her out of the dark mood she had fallen into. Nothing worked. In fact the harder Dawn tried, the more she said, the more Madison had withdrawn.

To the young brunette it felt like someone was dragging an old rusted, jagged edge knife slowly across her stomach. The worst part of the feeling was that it was Madison herself who had her fingers firmly gripped around the knife's hilt. Dawn wanted to help the young redhead as Madison had helped her earlier only she had shut her out completely.

For a few minutes she had toyed with the idea of picking the lock, but had quickly discarded it. Even if she did manage to open the door what was she going to do after that. She had no idea what to say to her, no idea how to fix what was wrong. So instead she waited for Buffy to get home by frantically pacing from the pallor to the kitchen and back again looking out every window she passed. Dreading the sight of Xander's car pulling into the driveway nearly as much as she prayed for its sudden arrival. She was going to have to tell Buffy everything that had happened today, or almost everything anyway.

The front door opens startling Dawn. Spinning around the young brunette gazes at her older sister's stern expression. "When'd the Osbourne family move in upstairs?" She asks in a very unamused tone of voice as she walks into the house.

"Think that's Areosmith," Xander quips lightly as he follows Buffy into the house. The tiny slayer shoots a glare at him that knocks the slight grin off his face, "but hey what do I know."

"We did something really, really stupid," Dawn blurts out hoping if she can tell Buffy before she asks it might mitigate their punishment slightly. She didn't think it would but it was better to try. "Well okay Madison was the one that came up with the idea but I went along with it so okay we both did something stupid but it didn't really seem stupid at the time," She rushes on before Buffy can cut in.

"What did you do?" Buffy asks sharply finally manages to cut her sister off.

"We went for a drive," Dawn answers in a small voice.

Xander shrugs, "that's not so bad."

Buffy shoots him another withering glare before returning her attention back to Dawn, "what else?" She demands sensing that there's more to the story then what she's said so far.

Dawn's head shifts downward as she says, "Madison picked up a lot of wine coolers," she admits the level of her voice dropping another octave as she gazes at the floor.

The expression on Buffy's face goes from stern to stark in the time it takes her to register the words, "you what?" She growls in a harsh voice.

At the same time Xander wonders aloud, "someone just sold you two liquor?"

Dawn shakes her head looking back up, "she paid some guy to go in and get it."

"Have you been?" Buffy asks Dawn in a cold voice as she keeps a tight reign on her temper. For the moment anyway.

Dawn shakes her head again as she meets her sister's eyes, "I probably would have," she admits to her. "But I had Madison take me to see Tara. She went for a walk while I... When she got back to the car she was. Well she was just so angry all of a sudden. It just didn't make any sense. She had been in such a good mood before, it just doesn't make any sense," she repeats more firmly.

"Grief," Buffy says softly. Sudden understanding doing nothing to lessen her anger. "Xander you want to take Dawn out, maybe pick up a pizza or something," she suggest in way that left no doubt it wasn't a suggestion but an order.

"You sure..."

"This is something I need to take care of. Alone."

Buffy unlocks the door to what had been her room, from just after moving to Sunnydale until a couple of months ago when she had finally taken over her mother's old room. The room that Willow and Tara had made theirs while she had been dead last summer. The room in which Tara had lost her life.

Setting her melancholy mood aside Buffy pushes the door open, she had a distraught and volatile teenager to deal with. Not that she knew how she was going to deal with Madison, she just knew she had to put a stop to her self-destructive behavior. She couldn't allow the girl to carry on the way she was.

As the door cracks open the first thing to assault her senses, even with the decibel level increasing dramatically, is the odor. The smell of stale smoke hits her like a sledge hammer. Mixed in with the strong aroma of cigarette smoke is the light flavor of half a dozen different fruit blends.

As the door swings open even further Buffy is appalled by the sight that greets her. Everything she sees is seen through a heavy haze of bluish smoke. More then a dozen, maybe as many eighteen or twenty, empty wine coolers litter the floor. Several of which are being used as impromptu ashtrays. A crush pack of cigarettes lay discarded by overturned amplifier.

The sight that truly horrifies her though is Madison herself. The young girl knelt on the floor sweating profusely, her hair plastered to her scalp just as her shirt was clinging to her body, as she almost hypnotically wound her way through an amazingly intricate piece of music. Blood from her sliced open fingertips slicked the neck of her guitar, dripped down from the instrument to her clothes, the floor, or splattered in a small spray as she strikes one note after another.

"Jesus," she mutters reaching the girl in one quick stride. Grabbing the blood slick neck of the guitar she silences the instrument as she rips it out of Madison's hands and off from around her shoulders, hurling it across the one room in one swift motion. It hits the wall with a loud screeching shriek.

"What the," Michael slurs as his large eyes snap open to glare at Buffy. "Off me," he hisses shoving at her.

Buffy grabs hold of Madison's blood covered arm hauling the girl to her feet, "I've tried being patient with you, giving you some space while you deal with what you're going through..."

"You have no idea what I'm going through," Michael hisses angrily.

"I know you're going through some tough times right now, but I can't, I wont condone this kind of behavior..."

"You don't know nothing," He slurs into Buffy's speech.

"I know all you're doing is hurting yourself," Buffy retorts hotly.

"Screw off," Michael mutters managing to place the palm of his bleeding left hand on the inside of Buffy's right elbow. Giving it a hard push he doesn't even manage to budge her arm. Angered his right fist swings around in a short hook punch.

Buffy sees the wide, looping punch coming as soon as Madison began throwing it. She easily ducks under the punch. "You know," she begins just in time to get hit with Madison's returning elbow. "I'm getting a little tired of people hitting me in the face," she grumbles punching the young girl in the side of the head.

Buffy watches as Madison's eyes roll back in her head and her legs give buckling under her. The tiny slayer maintains her grip on the redhead's arm keeping her from falling to the floor. "I hate dealing with drunks," she mumbles as she lifts Madison off her feet.

The first thing Michael became aware of, as he slides back towards consciousness, is the fact that he spent the night chewing sandpaper. That comes a split second before the feeling of having his head immersed in a bucket of ice water explodes inside his skull. He groans knowing the signs of the having the mother of all hangovers keeping him company all day.

"There's water and aspirin on the table," Buffy's says from where she's leaning against the far wall.

Her voice sounds like a church bell going off inside his skull. He pops his eyes and closes them instantly as light stabs into his bloodshot orbs like a thousand red hot pokers. The blinds and curtains were wide open spilling sunshine into the room. Covering his eyes with a small hand he groans softly, "somebody just shoot me now."

"Careful what you ask for," Buffy quips softly. "Get up," she says coldly after a few seconds.

Michael groans but manages to pull himself into sitting position on the bed. Squinting his large eyes into little slits he gets his first good look at Buffy as he becomes aware of a numbing pain in the tips of his long fingers on his left hand. From Buffy's body language, her facial expression he could easily tell the small woman was pissed beyond any measure of the word. "I screwed up last night didn't I?" He inquires softly his own voice like a jackhammer behind his ears.

"You have no idea," Buffy answers with no concern about the volume of her voice. "I know you're dealing with a lot of stuff right now. I really don't care," she after a slight pause in a voice cold enough to leave a vapor trail. "Whatever it is eating you up inside. Get over it. The crap you pulled last night, I'm not going to put up with it. I could care less what your watcher allowed you to get away. I have a young sister I'm responsible for and I really don't need you or you're bullshit getting her pulled out of here."

Wincing at every word Buffy said Michael slowly nods his head, "I know," he says softly.

"What?" Buffy asks slightly surprised by Madison's quick admission.

Tossing the blankets aside he uncovers his small, lithe body as he says, "I screwed up." He swings his legs over the side of the bed only vaguely aware that somebody must have changed his clothes last night after he passed out. It wasn't even something that he registered as he rises to his feet, "I'll have my shit packed and be out of your hair..."

"Who said anything about you leaving?" Buffy demands even more confused by her behavior. "You don't think I'm going to clean up this mess do you?"

Michael blinks, "then what?"

"First you're going to give me your car keys," Buffy answers. "Then I think for awhile we're going to have to keep you extremely busy."

Dawn pours the freshly popped popcorn into a large bowl. It was time for her favorite afternoon past time. Watching Madison as she spent part of the afternoon working on her fighting forms. Both with weapons and barehanded.

That was how the past ten days since their impromptu trip the package store and the graveyard had been going. Madison was up before the sun to begin her training, a good hour worth of calisthenics, stretching, Yoga, and Tai-Chi followed by a five mile run that she finished within twenty-five minutes. After breakfast the redhead truly began torturing herself.

At first Dawn had just thought she was standing there, gazing at the scenery. First one minute passed, then another and another and another until finally a quarter of an hour had passed. Then Madison moved, a slight shift, raise one arm, lower the other, bend one knee, turn the waist to face another direction. Then do it over and over again, from one posture to the next.

That would last from just after breakfast till Dawn called a break for lunch. They'd spend about an hour, eating, talking, and just hanging out. After that Madison would give Dawn her lesson. An hour of light, in comparison to what Madison put herself through, but intense torture that the young brunette wouldn't give up for anything in the world. Except for muscles that didn't act like rubber and feel like red hot needles were being jabbed into them, all at the same time.

After the first time Dawn complained about the pain Madison showed her a few simple meditative exercises that allowed her to re-channel her energy back into the aching muscles. At first Dawn was skeptical about the concept, but like she had begun doing with the redhead, she simply put her trust in Madison and followed where the younger girl led. Within only a few minutes of performing the techniques Dawn literally felt a warm energy flow through her body soothing the fatigued muscles. Of course Madison had chided her for not mentioning it sooner, telling Dawn she couldn't help her fully if she didn't tell her when something was bothering her, or felt wrong, or out of place.

Dawn enjoyed those few hours each day most of all. Not just because she got to spend them with Madison, which was a definite plus in her book, but because she was able to forget about her problems. Even if her biggest and most recent problem was standing no more then a few feet away from her most of the time, and other times when she was much closer then a few feet. Like when she was showing her a technique and their bodies were pressed together in such a way that Dawn found breathing was a hard task to remember.

Over the pest ten days Dawn had begun to admit that she was attracted to Madison, maybe more then just attracted. Which was confusing her greatly. Up until the lithe redhead had shown up on her doorstep Dawn had never seen another girl in that light. She had always been attracted to boys, liked checking out the opposite sex, looking, gazing longingly at them. She enjoyed kissing them. Despite the fact that the only one that she had kissed had been a blood sucking vampire.

Dawn wasn't holding out any hope of the younger girl returning her feelings. Madison had made it abundantly clear early on that she saw Dawn as a friend. Had told Dawn that she valued their friendship above anything else and wasn't going jeopardize it by doing something as stupid as coming on to her.

She had been struggling with how she felt at the time so instead of speaking up, of telling Madison that she liked her, Dawn had taken the simple way out and kept her mouth shut. She had in fact told Madison that she agreed completely with her. Madison's smile had been so big as she clapped Dawn on the shoulder that it nearly tore her heart out, but she managed to keep her fake smile plastered to her lips. Even increased it slightly despite wanting to run upstairs and bawl her eyes out.

She had made a silent vow at the time to enjoy what time she could spend with the younger girl. So that was what she was doing. While kicking herself every second of every day for not saying something.

There was just something about Madison that clicked for her. She didn't act like any other girl Dawn had ever met before. From the music she listened to, the movies she watched, the books she read, to the food she ate, how she ate it. The way she walked, talked, even the way she thought was completely unlike anything she had ever seen from any other girl.

Like the day she had found out Xander wasn't Buffy's boyfriend. Her derisive sounding comment had been something like, "he sure as hell acts like it." The fact she didn't like Xander was obvious from the first night they met. That had been the best night between the two of them.

After that things had gone from bad to worst in less time then it took Madison's corvette to go from zero to sixty. Four point nine seconds the one time the redhead had demonstrated just how many horses she had under the hood of her car. Or something to that effect. It had culminated a couple nights ago when Madison, fed up of having Xander staring at her ass, told him in no uncertain terms the next time he checked her out she'd cut his balls off and shove them down his throat.

Not that Madison couldn't piss her off, or irritate her at the drop of the hat. Like the fact neither her or Buffy would tell her what they had talked about the morning after her night of drinking. It was hard for Dawn to figure out.

Since that night Madison hadn't drank, hadn't smoked. She was training night and day. Not just physically either, but also going through their meager collection of books looking for the creatures that had killed her watcher and her cousin. Human looking beings without eyes. Dawn had figured the watcher council would have been able to come with something in a heartbeat, but they came up with as much as the residents of the Summers house. Nothing.

In the early evening, after Buffy got home from work her and Madison would usually train. Madison all sweaty from a day spent torturing herself, Buffy all smelly from a day working in a greasy fast food restaurant. Dawn had been mildly surprised to learn that it was again Madison doing the teaching. She would go into these vast and detailed explanations the Dawn only half understood, but Buffy absorbed like a sponge.

During their training sessions, occasionally Madison would ask Dawn to join them. At first she had been ecstatic to help out, to be training with Buffy. It didn't last though as she realized she was nothing more then a demonstration dummy for Madison to showcase a technique or move so Buffy would see how it worked on a human body. Then her role would switch to that of practice dummy as Buffy did the technique on her so Madison could watch and see if she was doing it properly. Dawn felt fortunate that Buffy rarely, if ever, needed to do anything a second time as she learnt exactly what Madison was showing her effortlessly. One of the many benefits that came with being a slayer she had explained.

During the first week, if Madison was in a particularly foul mood, she would ask Xander to join them. She had the habit of using Xander to showcase the more vicious aspects of her art. He would normally leave the house those nights with a new limp and several new bruises decorating his body. It didn't take him long to learn it was better for his long term health if he declined her invitations.

At times during their training sessions Dawn would catch Buffy giving Madison a hard stare over something she had said or done. She was never able to figure out what the redhead had done to anger Buffy but she had, and soon after Buffy would call an end to the training and the sparring would begin. An activity Buffy had an extreme advantage in. Especially the strength, speed, and the fact that Madison's punches didn't seem to faze Buffy. Not that the young girl gave up, it just made the outcome predictable.

The first time the two of them had sparred, Madison was able to hold Buffy off despite her superior speed and strength with skill and a tenacity that rivaled Spike's. Buffy won, eventually, but Madison didn't make it easy for her. She made sure Buffy earned her victory.

The first day Madison had gone for her run, after she had gotten back, she gave Buffy five hundred dollars. Rent the young girl had called it. Buffy wasn't going to accept it at first, but Madison had convinced her otherwise saying she had spent more and gotten less with some of the places she had lived in her life. When Buffy inquired where she had gotten the money from Madison inform them Michael had left her his entire fortune. Twenty-five million dollars. To say a few mouths dropped open after that would have been an understatement of the year.

That was how the last ten days had been going. Madison pushing herself to what Dawn had to assume were the limits of human endurance, day and night, and still being able to give Dawn her hour long lesson. Teaching Buffy the little nuances of fighting she had never known before, then having it used back on her as the two of them sparred.

At night Madison would spend an hour or so reading. Dawn had quickly learnt what her favorite titles were; a series called The Wheel of Time, followed by two sagas called The Rift War and The Serpent War, and Star Trek books written by William Shatner. She had named off other book titles, as well as authors that she liked, but Dawn had never heard of them.

The redhead had been quite indignant when she made an observation over what George Lucas had done to Star Wars. Dawn had responded by telling her the new movies were great, to which Madison had given her the classic duh face and informed Dawn she had been talking about the latest series of books. How they had killed off Chewie and turned Luke into an indecisive wimp afraid to use his power.

Dawn wasn't so sure considering her experiences with Willow going evil and trying to destroy the world while she was hopped on dark magic. When she had told Madison what had just before the beginning of summer the younger girl had shaken her head and told Dawn it wasn't the power that made Willow do what she did, but her own rage and grief and pain.

"Power by itself isn't good or evil. It has no consciousness. It just is," Madison had said, "it's the will that controls the power that determines good or evil. Just like having power didn't make a person one or the other, it was how they chose to, or not to, use it that would determine weather they were a hero or villain."

She had changed the subject after that. It hadn't stopped Dawn from quickly exiting the room and closeting herself in her bedroom. What Madison had said made sense to Dawn, and that was the problem. The young brunette had wanted, still wanted, to blame Willow's actions on the magic. Only it wasn't the magic that made Willow threaten to unmake her, it wasn't the magic that tried to destroy the world. It was a choice Willow had made, a choice she had been driven to by Tara's death and the fact that she did have the power to make her desires a reality.

That had been last night. This morning Dawn had been rather distant to everyone. She was finding that having her illusions shattered to be a difficult experience to deal with. Only with Madison around she was having her preconceived notions of the world torn apart left, right, and center.

Dawn steps up to the back door. Gazing out the window she looks for Madison, only the petite redhead was nowhere to be seen. Dawn found that to be highly unusual. Madison was always out in the backyard practicing. Rain or shine that was where she always was.

"Hey." Dawn jumps startled by Madison's soft voice from behind her. "You okay?" She asks concern suddenly shinning in her voice.

Dawn whips around indignantly as her eyes course over Madison's form, "of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" She had thought the younger girl had been in shape before, but after a ten days of her intense training regiment she made her old self seem flabby in comparison.

Michael quirks his lips giving Dawn a crooked half smile as he says, "maybe because I just saw you jump out of your skin."

"Yeah, well. Maybe if people made more noise while they walked around here barefoot, then maybe they wouldn't go around handing out heart attacks now would they?" She gripes rapidly not giving the young girl in front her a chance to speak. After catching her breath Dawn asks, "so how come you're not out practicing?"

"Felt like taking a day off," Michael says with a shrug.

For the past nine days he had been immersing himself in the identity he had created for Madison Rose. He had stopped thinking of himself as Michael, instead taking great pains to call himself Madison. Inside his head he had stopped thinking of himself in terms of he, him, or his and had started using their feminine counterparts. It was a fairly difficult task, more so then he had originally thought. He was starting to succeed, a little anyway. Maybe a quarter of the time, but it was a start.

"Look about last night, I'm sorry. I had no right saying what I did. Willow's your friend, you know what she's like so if..."

"It's okay," Dawn says cutting her off. Not wanting to discuss the subject any further she inquires, "so what are you planning on doing with your day off?"

"Power Puff Girls are on," Dawn groans at the excitement in her voice. This was another one of those things like was like no other girl Dawn had ever met before. "Come on you'll love it," Michael adds grabbing her hand and dragging her into the pallor.

Michael sat in front of the t.v. by himself, a bowl of microwave popcorn sitting in his small lap, as he paid minimal attention to Johnny Bravo. From his new perspective he didn't find the cartoon as amusing as he used to. That wasn't what was bothering him though.

That distinction belong solely to Dawn, and not in the way it usually did. He had taken care of that shortly after seeing the way the brunette was checking him out, checking her out, he amended silently. While he enjoyed the feel of Dawn's hungry eyes drinking in his shapely curves, his lithe and supple body, he was nearly twice Dawn's age. Michael felt guilty enough about his own desires that he wasn't about to let anything else happen between them.

A few simple words telling Dawn that he valued her friendship more then anything else in the world, that he didn't want Dawn to feel uncomfortable around her. Words he savagely ripped out of his own throat when he wanted to do nothing more then to grab her and devour Dawn's lips with his own new, softer lips. To run his long fingered hands over Dawn's tone body, to feel the brunette shudder under his touch, to feel her gasp, moan into his mouth.

Michael quickly pulls his mind from those more then pleasant images. He was going to have to do something soon to relieve the tension that just a few seconds of thinking about Dawn had built up. That was another one of the reasons he had taken to training so much. There was no thought, everything existed in a single moment, in a single action that once immersed within there was nothing else. It was a state he had never achieved inside in his own body, but inside Madison's he found he could slip into it at will, as if her mind and body had been specifically designed to be a perfect fighting machine.

He had noticed the same thing with a lot of different exercises he did. It was easier for him to find his center, to feel his energy, is chi, and channel it how he desired. He quickly found that a couple hours of meditation and a few hours of sleep and he felt as if he had a solid eight hours worth of rest at night. There were techniques that he had never mastered, had only in fact begun learning, but they were suddenly at his fingertips with barely any conscious thought.

It was the same way with Buffy only amplified a hundred fold. She picked up whatever he showed her after only one time. The tiny woman had it perfected within half a dozen attempts and was waiting for the next scrape of knowledge that he was going to toss her way.

Dawn however wasn't like that. She had to struggle with everything she did. It was work until she nearly fell over from exhaustion. That was nearly everything anyway. The girl was like an ocean when it came to internal energy, her chi. Just as her physical strength was almost as impressive. Michael had come to realize early on that the brunette was far stronger then he was. It was no where near Buffy's strength but it easily surpassed his own, but Dawn seemed to be unaware of her preternatural strength. That was why he had need to talk to Buffy, to find out if she was aware of her younger sister's superhuman strength.

The doorbell's chime broke Michael out of his thoughts. Getting up he walks over and answers the door. "Hi, there," a FedEx driver says cheerfully.

Michael can't help himself as his eyes graze over the tall woman's bosom chest, "hi yourself," he says a slight hitch in his voice as he lifts his eyes to her handsome face. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that left the rest of her face exposed. Smooth cheeks, and warm brown eyes were the woman's most attractive features.

"Got a package here for a Madison Rose," she informs the young girl who was obviously checking her out.

"That would be me," Michael replies as he takes the package. Noticing she wasn't wearing a wedding ring he grins slightly.

"I just need you to sign here," she says handing him an electronic clipboard. Michael takes it and signs, in an almost unreadable script, the name Madison Rose before handing the pad back. "Thanks a lot," she adds taking the pad back. Giving Michael the once over she says in a husky voice, "if you were a few years older," before turning around and leaving.

"Fuck me," Michael groans as he watches her walk back to her truck with a lust filled eyes. Once she was gone he turns his attention to the large box in his hands with a smile. There was no name on the outside of the box, but he knew exactly where it had come from.

________________________________________________________________________

Pour Me - Trick Pony

Pour me, pour me  
Pour me, pour me another shot of whiskey  
Bartender hit me one more time  
He left, I cried  
I'm lost inside, won't ya help me  
Fill it to the top 'cause I hit rock bottom this time  
  
Well I don't want to listen to the old jukebox  
so don'tcha put no quarters in the slot  
I don't wanna talk and I don't wanna dance  
I dang sure ain't lookin' for romance  
  
I don't wanna hang out with the crowd  
I don't wanna party and get real loud  
Believe me when I tell ya that I've thought this through  
There's only one thing that I want you to do  
  
Pour me, pour me  
Pour me, pour me another shot of whiskey  
Bartender hit me one more time  
He left, I cried  
I'm lost inside, won't ya help me  
Fill it to the top 'cause I hit rock bottom this time  
  
Here's my story, it's sad but it's true  
There's so many things that I never knew  
He loved to party and he loved to dance  
He loved to get loud every time he had the chance  
  
I always thought he was a simple-minded Okie  
Little did I know he was the king of karaoke  
He was everything that a man should be  
Problem was that it wasn't with me  
  
Pour me, pour me  
Pour me, pour me another shot of whiskey  
Bartender hit me one more time  
He left, I cried  
I'm lost inside, won't ya help me  
Fill it to the top 'cause I hit rock bottom this time  
Fill it to the top 'cause I hit rock bottom this time  
Fill it to the top 'cause I hit rock bottom this time  
  
Pour Me  
Pour Me  
Pour Me  
Pour Me


	7. Chap 7: No Surrender

__

Chapter Seven: No Surrender

Buffy watches impressed as Dawn drops to the ground. Doing a neat little scissors move to the vampire's leg the young brunette takes him to the ground with her. The vampire rolls to his back just as Dawn lunges forward driving the stake into his chest. She waits expectantly but nothing happens and a moment later she realizes she missed his heart. The vampire shoves her back then springs back to his feet.

Madison had made a few keen observations about Dawn to her several days ago. The young girl had been demanding answers about Dawn's preternatural strength and speed. Buffy hadn't given her any, since she really didn't have any to give. The only thing she could think of was the fact that the monks had made Dawn out of a piece of her, to some extent a clone that had at one time been a mystical energy known as the key. Did that mean that Dawn was a slayer as well. Was she going to be forced to live the same fate that Buffy herself was forced to live with.

Or was she something different.

Not for the first time she truly wishes that Giles or Willow were around to give her some answers.

The observations that Madison had made were things that Buffy herself should have noticed a long time ago. If she had actually paid attention to her sister like she was suppose to be doing. Seeing her now as she blocks, parries, and avoids a series of punches and kicks thrown at her by the fledgling she can't help but wonder how she could have missed it to begin with. She knew the answer, it was so obvious it was glaring. She hadn't wanted to see it so she didn't.

She had to give the young redhead credit. In just three short weeks she had managed to turn Dawn into something of a fighter.

Buffy winces as her sister takes a hard shot to the chin. It doesn't seem to faze Dawn though as she comes back with a nasty front kick to his groin. The vampire clutches his privates as he drops to his knees. Dawn then slams her stake into his heart, and this time he turns to dust a heartbeat later.

Buffy quickly replaces the proud grin with a stern scowl as Dawn turns a jubilant smile on her. The young girl was just about bursting at the seems with excitement. "Did you see that?" She make a smell exploding gesture as she opens her hands spreading her fingers, "poof..."

"You missed his heart the first time," Buffy points out critically.

Dawn waves it off with a bubbly, "but I got it the second time." If possible her grin gets even wider as she bounces on her toes. "My first vamp," She gushes proudly.

"And last," Buffy says popping her balloon. Dawn's face plummets back to earth even faster then the vamp had turned to dust. "At least until you can get the staking down to one thrust, one dust."

"Don't even tell me you never missed the heart," she challenges her sister.

Buffy sighs dejectedly, "once," she admits as she picks up the weapon bag.

"Ah-ha," Dawn gloats.

"It was my first vamp," she explains.

"So wasn't mine," Dawn replies unwilling to let the subject go. "Next time..."

"Next time you run," Buffy commands. "Until I say you're ready slaying is not going to become your after school hobby."

"Please, I am so not looking forward to that," Dawn complains mournfully.

"I can't believe they rebuilt it," Buffy said.

"I know," Dawn agrees in an equally horrified voice. "Do you know what you're going to do about Madison?" She asked a slight gleam in her eye.

Buffy takes a cautious look at her sister out of the corner of her eye. It was easy to see the signs of a major crush developing there. The way she brightens at just the sound of the girl's name. How Madison walking into the same room would bring a wide smile to Dawn's face as if she was coming alive. How her sister would cast wistful glances at the obstinate redhead.

In the three weeks since Madison's arrival she didn't think there was a day that went by were the two girls didn't hang out for the majority of the day. So maybe it was more along the lines of a full blown crush. Buffy could admit that even if she was having a hard time accepting the fact that her sister was attracted to girl.

Madison bore enough bruises to prove it.

It wasn't just that she was attracted to a girl. If it had been she thought that she could deal with that. It was the fact Madison was a potential slayer, and not just any potential but from what Travers said the next in line. For the next four years if Faith should die Madison was going to be the slayer that was called next.

Buffy wishes that she could spare her sister the pain that she was likely to feel. The chances of Faith surviving four more years, even in prison, were unlikely to say the least. Which meant at most Madison had maybe another ten years to her life. A fact the girl herself was unaware of.

"What about Madison?" Buffy repeats after several minutes.

Michael glares at the small blond standing in front of him. More at what she had just told him. With his arms crossed over his pert breast, and a prominent scowl plastered on his small face he looks like a picture of an angry young woman. "You've got to be kidding me," he scoffs indignantly to the information he's just heard.

Buffy sighs exasperated by the days events. "It's not exactly what I was expecting either," she tells Madison. "But that's what the council told me."

Michael gives a sharp shake of his head. His long, vibrant red hair slashing from side to side with the motion as he asks, "so what does this mean?"

"It means that agreement we had a few weeks ago. It's now a reality," she answers.

He grins at the blonde, a slight quirk to the corners of his lips, "does this mean I get to call you mom now?"

Buffy pales visibly as she gasps, "don't you dare." Michael's grin broadens at her response and he can't help the small giggle. Buffy gives Madison a polite smile as she tells the young girl, "but tomorrow we're going to have to do some school shopping."

Michael shrugs as he replies, "not a problem. What does Dawn need?" He inquires as he continues to grin. Despite Buffy's continued admonishments not to he still bought whatever food, or supplies the house was in need of. He had more money then he knew what to do with so he didn't see the problem with spending it if it made their lives easier. As far as he was concerned it was the least he could do to repay them for what they were doing for him.

Buffy shakes her head as she says, "nothing. You do," she informs Madison with a tight smile.

Michael's eyes go wide as his mouth opens slightly at her words. "You've got to be kidding me?"

"This is ridiculous," Michael bitches to Dawn as he paces the width of his room strumming his guitar to an erratic rhythm. "I haven't set foot in a classroom since my..." He stops with a quick glance at Dawn, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, as he realizes what he had been about to say. He hadn't been in a classroom since the day his parents had been killed when he was seventeen. "Since my watcher took from Michael a few years ago," he finishes.

Dawn shakes her lightly as she stands up from the edge of the bed. "I'm sure if you talk to Buffy she'll..." She stops as laughter starts floating out of the amplifier. Even after nearly a month she was still amazed by what sounds Madison was capable of creating with her guitar. The weirdest had been the night Madison held her end of the conversation through her guitar without ever uttering a sound.

"We already tried talking," he says quietly. Noticing the expectant look in Dawn's eyes he continues by saying, "lets just say that we agreed to disagreed."

The brunette sighs. She didn't think her sister and Madison were ever going to agree on anything. Sometimes she thought the two of them simple disagreed about something just because they didn't want to agree on anything. "So that means you're going to school?"

Michael didn't miss the excitement that bubbles up in Dawn's voice. "Unless I can think of someway out of it. Which I doubt, then yeah. I'll be another proud student of Sunnydale High."

"Any idea as to what grade you'll be in? I mean it's been what three, four years since you've gone to school. You were barely out of grammar school," she points out delicately.

Michael rolls his narrow shoulders a moment before he answers, "there's some test they're forcing me to take." It had been over ten years since the last test he had taken. He still didn't know what the results were, but he could take a fairly accurate guess considering his track record. He had never bothered applying himself in school, had never considered school to be all that important to how well you did in the real world. Ten years and twenty five million dollars later his opinion hadn't changed.

Michael sits in the plastic and steel chair just in front of the wood and steel desk, though lounges would be a better way to describe the posture his lithe young feminine form had taken. A pair of greenish tinted sunglasses cover his large, light colored eyes. His long, narrow fingers lace together behind his head, a few strands of his brilliant red hair were caught between his nimble fingers. His lean, shapely legs stretch out in front of him crossing at the ankles. With his arms back behind his head, and his legs extended out in front, his developing chest was pushed even further forward. The light burgundy sweater, Dawn had talked him into wearing, hitches upwards ever so slightly exposing his tone abdomen.

It was only the second class of the day and already he was bored out of his mind. He had thought that after a decade long absence from school that they might have come up with something new, but so far it was all the same old same old. After little more then an hour he already found the classes to be as useless now as he had the first time he had tried to muddle his way through.

His first encounter with the Principal told him he still didn't like authority figures. He found the teachers drivel to be, if possible, even more meaningless then he remembers. He didn't have much to go on after only an hour or so, but he didn't really care either. He felt that he was right and that was the only thing that matters to him.

About the only thing he was looking forward to was gym and the girls locker room. It was something that he would have given his right arm to get into his first time through high school. It was like the promise land and now he had his own personal key. All he had to do was last that long without snapping and taking out the teaching staff.

The opening riff to Deep Purple's Smoke on the Water fills the room cutting into the teacher speech. Michael lifts his cellphone from the desk with a slight shrug as he flips the phone open. "Yeah," he says as he places the small device next to his ear. The expression on his face changes to concern as he listens to Buffy. "Right," he agrees getting up from his desk, "no of course not," he says as he begins walking towards the door hanging up his phone.

"Excuse me Miss Rose," Mrs. Lodriox calls out as the young girl crosses the room.

"Sorry," Michael responds not sounding sorry in the slightest.

"Don't you," she begins as the redhead grabs hold of the door handle, twist, jerks the door open and slips out through the opening before she can finish. With a light huff she goes over to the schools internal phone. This was the first day of school and that wasn't the type of behavior she was going to allow in her class.

A few minutes later Michael slips through the basement door unnoticed by any living being. That didn't mean his actions went completely unnoticed. The First watches the young girl with a keen interest as she shifts from Buffy's to Madison's form. The evil entity smirks lightly as she says, "I thought I looked familiar. Guess I'm gonna have to find out what happened here," she says just before vanishing.

Michael watches from the end of a side corridor as Buffy stares, he'd almost say dumbfounded or awe struck, at the blonde hair man standing on the other side of the door. He was going to call out only he couldn't seem to find his voice as he continues to wonder about the expression on Buffy's face. He had never seen that kind of look on anyone's face before let alone a woman he found as strong, self assured, and self reliant as he found Buffy to be. It was almost like she had forgotten everything else in the world exists.

He reaches out with his hand to softly caress the side of her face. "Buffy, duck," the man says to her.

"What? Duck? There's a duck?" The three questions dumbly tumble out of her mouth right on top of each other.

Suddenly Buffy drops to the ground as if she was hit upside the head by something. Michael stares, but there was nothing there. The tiny blonde quickly kicks out at something then hops to her feet and swings the door back as if she was using it to hit someone before slipping inside the room and pulling the door close behind her. Now the entire corridor was completely empty and he just now realizes he hasn't moved from his spot since first spotting Buffy. Then again Buffy had told him not to do anything until she called back.

He leans back against the wall a speculative look falling over his face. If he didn't know better he would say that was a look of pure love, or maybe just seeing something so unexpected it had thrown her for a complete loop. Personally he prefers the pure love theory.

Several minutes pass for the young red hair woman as he leans against the wall before his phone begins playing the opening riff again. Flipping the phone open he answers with his normal, "yeah. What? No, of course I'm not down in the basement," he says with a little squeak. With a quick look back at the steel door he rushes back the way he had come. "Yeah, well. I had to use the bathroom that's why you don't hear no teacher yapping. You did make me mesmerize the school's blueprints. Little doll in bathroom. Destroy it. Not a problem, on my way even as we speak," he finishes hanging up.

Stepping out of the girl's locker room with his long red hair glistening wetly Michael couldn't help but smile broadly. It was like a dream come true. He had always known showering with twenty teenage women would be an erotic experience, but he never imagined it would be quite that erotic, and not being able to gratify himself was like an exquisite form of torture. Now all he had to do was find himself an unoccupied restroom and he'd be able to relieve that tension as well.

One thing he had decided on while showering was that there was no way he was going to be able to stay celibate, or chaste, for the next three days, let alone the next three years. He still couldn't bring himself to make any kind of move on Dawn. At sixteen, ,what small amount of morals he had, just found her two young for his twenty-eight year old mentality. Just like the thought of a twenty year old going after him in his fifteen year old body disturbs him.

Seventeen to nineteen though. In-between those ages he found he had no qualms, feelings of guilt or remorse, felt no anxiety what so ever when he imagined having sex with women within those ages. He knew it was something of a cope out. That there wasn't much, if any, difference between sixteen and seventeen. It was just his way of avoiding any type of real relationship that could develop between him and Dawn.

Plus there was also the fact that if he tried to put the moves on Dawn then Buffy would really kick his ass during their training sessions.

Slinging his heavy denim backpack over his shoulder he heads for the door. Halfway there the intercom crackles to life as an old, leathery sounding voice says, "Madison Rose. Please report to the office. Madison Rose, please report to the office. Thank you," and then clicks off.

Sighing deeply Michael heads for the headsman.

"Sixty-five minutes," Principal Robin Wood informs the young girl, who wears boredom like a mask, sitting in the small chair in front of his desk. "Do you have any idea what sixty-five minutes represent?"

"Thirty-nine hundred seconds," Michael responds flippantly.

"No..."

"Yeah," Michael cuts in. "Sixty times sixty-five equals..."

"It equals the amount of time before I had my first call from a teacher about a disciplinary matter concerning one of her students," he cuts her off raising his voice significantly. If it effects her in the slightest it doesn't show. "Now do you know who this disciplinary matter involves?"

Michael looks around the room before looking up at Wood with a dumbfound look glaze over his face as he inquires, "um, could it be me?"

"Cut the act," Wood snaps.

Unable to resist he replies, "who says it's an act." He couldn't help but find it amusing at how easy he could push the principal's buttons.

Wood shakes his head as he gets up from behind his desk. "why don't you tell me what was so urgent you had to get out of bio?"

"It was personal, not the kind of thing you can just shout out in the middle of class," Michael answers with a little squirm hoping the it was personal excuse would work. Especially considering his other one was so outlandish he didn't think he could get through it without bursting into laughter.

"Something you couldn't tell the teacher in private?"

Michael takes a deep breath to prepare himself. Either Wood would expel him for the rest of the year, in which case his problems were solved, or he'd have a heart attack, in which case his problem was solved. "You wanna know why I walked out of class so bad? Fine. Being around all those hot young bodies was getting me all worked up. I mean the tight sweaters, pants that are practically painted on, tops that are so tight you can practically see nipples jutting through the soft material, skirts so short that when the girls bend..."

"All right," he cuts her off in a slightly strangled voice. "Enough already."

Michael smirks to himself as Wood turns away. "I had to find myself a nice private bathroom so I could. You know."

This was not what Wood wants to be hearing on his first day. Madison was a lesbian, he could deal with that. He doubts if she was the only one in the school. That she was using the bathrooms as her own private masturbation chambers was what he was having difficulties with. He sits down in his chair facing her, "look," he begins placing his palms flat on his desk. "That you have... Needs, desires, urges. I can understand that. What I can't do is allow you to..."

"Masturbate," Michael supplies into Wood's pause.

"... on school grounds. You're suspended the rest of the week."

"Cool three days off," Michael says a bright smile splitting his smooth face.

Wood shakes his head with a grin, "in school suspension," he informs the young girl. His own grin widens considerably as her face falls with comprehension.

Buffy smiles lightly at Madison's version of what had happened in Principal Wood's office. Even Dawn couldn't help smiling, though her cheeks had colored slightly upon hearing the excuse the redhead had given Wood as to why she walked out of the class without permission. Xander couldn't help but laugh openly at the hole the young girl had dug for herself while he drove down the road.

The fact that he was driving was quite possibly the only thing keeping Michael from slapping him upside his head at the moment. He still didn't like the construction worker, but he was learning to tolerate him just a little better over the last couple weeks.

"I told you on the phone to stay in class," Buffy says into the silence following Xander's short bark off laughter.

Michael shrugs as he says, "yeah well. Did you actually expect me to listen?"

Buffy looks over into the back seat as she answers by saying, "actually. Yes, I did."

Michael rolls his thin shoulders lightly. Buffy had known him for more then a month now, she should realize by now that more often then not he was going to go his own way. "So who was the blonde you ran into down there? And what was with the whole fighting the air thing you were doing? Thought you said there were apparitions or something like that down there?" He inquires quickly. The only one he really cared about getting an answer to was the first one, but he didn't want it to seem like he was prying into her personal business even if he was. He wasn't however expecting the reactions his questions got.

Buffy simply looks as if she was fish out of water. Xander, not that he cares, looks as if he was planning to go off and commit mass murder. Dawn looks somewhere between the two. Confusion and anger. Never a very good mix of emotions on anyone, let alone her.

He suddenly wishes he could take back the questions. That his mouth didn't open and the words didn't spring out. This was what he gets whenever he speaks without thinking. "Okay," Michael says slowly. "I just said something that pissed everyone off. Someone want to fill me in?"

"No," Buffy answers shortly turning back around. She didn't know how much Madison had seen in the basement, but if the redhead saw that much she had seen far too much as far as Buffy was concerned.

"It was Spike," Xander says immediately after ignoring the tiny blonde's command. "He's the vampire that tried to rape Buffy," he explains harshly.

Michael tries to work those pieces of information around what he saw in the basement. Vampire, bad. Attempted rapist, even worse. Yet Buffy hadn't acted like someone confronting the person that had attempted to rape her. He wasn't sure what she had been acting like but he knew it wasn't that.

A person doesn't go all goggle-eyed over seeing the person that tried to rape them, unless they were imagining a thousand different ways to kill them. Even now, she wasn't denying it, but there was something in the way that she sat that just screams at him that there was more to it then anybody else knew. Facts and events that she didn't want anyone else to learn.

Taking a deep breath he sinks his slight frame down into the back seat and decides not to enjoy the silence of the ride home.

________________________________________________________________________

No Surrender - Bruce Springsteen

We busted out of class had to get away from those fools  
We learned more from a three-minute record than we ever learned in school  
Tonight I heart the neighborhood drummer sound  
I can feel my heart begin to pound  
You say you're tired and you just want to close your eyes and follow your dreams down  
  
We made a promise we swore we'd always remember  
No retreat, believe me, no surrender  
Like soldiers in the winter's night with a vow to defend  
No retreat, believe me, no surrender  
  
Now young faces grow sad and old and hearts of fire grow cold  
We swore blood brothers against the wind  
I'm ready to grow young again  
And hear your sister's voice calling us home across the open yards  
Believin' we could cut someplace of our own  
With these drums and these guitars  
  
We made a promise we swore we'd always remember  
No retreat, believe me, no surrender  
Blood brothers in the stormy night with a vow to defend  
No retreat, believe me, no surrender  
  
Now on the street tonight the lights grow dim  
The walls of my room are closing in  
But it's good to see your smiling face and to hear your voice again  
We could sleep in the twilight by the river side  
With a wide open country in our hearts  
And these romanics dreams in our heads  
  
We made a promise...


	8. Chap 8: Hurt

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Chapter Eight: Hurt

"Are you sure you want to be doing this?" Michael questions Dawn as they climb down the stairs leading into the basement. She figures the only reason Dawn hadn't been here long before now was because this was the first day she wasn't occupying a small little room all by herself.

Of course her presence down here was almost like asking for a second suspension in as many weeks since she was skipping out on another class, American Literature. It didn't matter to Michael. There was no way she was going to let the brunette come down here by herself.

"You didn't have to tag along," Dawn tells Madison trying to sound confident only to hear the girl in front of her snort derisively.

"Right and let your sister find out I knew you were coming down here and didn't stop you," Michael gives her head a small shake. "No matter what I'm going to wind up getting my ass kicked. You do know that don't you?"

Dawn smiles lightly at Madison's comment. She didn't like to think of her sister beating people up, unless they happen to be demons or evil robots or some other form of insipid evil. But that the redhead guiding the way was willing to risk her sister's wrath for her. It made her happy in a strange sort of way. "If you're worried I'll talk to Buffy," she offers the younger girl.

"Right," Michael says softly. "I'm sure that will go over well," she finishes sarcastically as they come to an intersection. "Down this way," she adds with a small gesture down the narrow side passage. "You don't have to talk to Buffy. She's gonna think what she thinks no matter what you tell her."

Dawn chews on her bottom lip as she follows Madison through the tunnel. Normally from this vantage point her eyes would be focused in on the sway of the redhead's hips. Today however she had other things occupying her mind and while she appreciated the view, it wasn't enough to keep her from thinking about the upcoming confrontation she was going to have with Spike.

What was she going to say? What was she going to do? Should she stake him? Could she? Even if he didn't fight back could she bring herself to do it? Would it be easier if he did fight back?

She wasn't even sure what she was more upset about. His attempted rape of her sister, which was the easy thing to blame her anger on.

Only it wasn't the only reason she had.

He had abandoned her. After all his talk of never leaving her. He left just like everyone else. Her father, mother, Buffy, Giles, Tara. They had all left her and so hadn't he after promising her that he wouldn't.

If he had been there then she never would have found out about the attempted rape. Or at least she wouldn't have found out like she had. Wouldn't have had to learn about through Xander.

Buffy wasn't talking about it and, when push came to shove, she had still taken her to Spike. Why would she do that if what Xander says was true.

Again nobody was talking to her. Nobody was explaining these things to her. Nobody was telling her how these things were suppose to work and that, more then anything, was all that she wants.

Someone to tell her why if two people love each other, why all they do is hurt each other. Spike loved Buffy, Buffy loved Spike. Xander loved Anya, Anya loved Xander. Yet all any of them do is tear each other apart.

"Right here," Michael says coming to a stop in front of the thick metal door she had seen Buffy enter last time she had been down here.

Dawn snaps out of her trance like state at the sound of Madison's voice. She looks at the thick door, and with more then just a touch of trepidation burning in her voice she asks, "in there?"

Michael can almost feel the anxiety rolling off her. "You don't have to do this," he tells her. "Nobody's going to think any less of you if you walk away now."

Dawn shakes her head, a sharp, definitive jerk. "I need to do this," she tells the redhead.

"All right," Michael replies in defeat.

"Don't," Dawn orders as Madison raises her hand to bang on the door. Reaching out her own trembling hand she grabs hold of the handle. "If he's in there he already knows we're here," she tells her younger companion.

A few seconds later she pulls open the door. Both girls jump back, their hearts hammering in their chest, as Spike's haggard face glares at them from just the other side of the doorway. The pair land in ready fighting stances as they face off against the master vampire.

"Hear the two of you bumbling around down here just fine," Spike mumbles as he staggers back into the room.

"What..." Dawn begins in shock. She had never seen Spike like this. He had always been the larger then life hero that was coming to her rescue. Now he was... She didn't know what he was. He looks lost, like he doesn't know where he is, or even who he is.

"If you're coming in Niblet, then come in," he calls out. "Isn't a barn we're living in now is it. Bring your pretty little friend in too."

Michael steps through the door first. There was something in the vampire's voice that shouts at her that he wasn't playing with a full deck. Dawn follows her through the entrance almost in her hip pocket.

"Though she's been down here enough to know the way around," he adds as they step through the doorway.

Michael shrugs giving Dawn a confused look. She had know idea what he was talking about.

"Course they're all down here," he points to a spot on the wall as he adds, "she's down here the most, but they all come sooner or later."

Dawn moves around Madison, edging her way around the tense redhead, bringing herself closer to Spike. "Who's down here Spike?"

He spins around to face her, his shirt falling open slightly as he says, "everyone." Dawn gasps at the cuts and scratches covering his chest. "Everyone I ever hurt. The more I hurt them the more they come," he chuckles softly as if he sees something funny. "You'd think it'd be a bit more crowded, standing room only and all that bollix, but there's always room for a couple more." He stares hard at Dawn for a second before going on saying, "first time you've been here. Never thought I'd hurt you," gives a slight shrug, "but I guess what they say is true."

"What happened to you?" Dawn asks softly as she stretches out her hand towards Spike's chest.

Spike looks down at her hand nervously before he suddenly whirls away from her touch. "Just shut the bloody hell up!" He shouts at something that isn't there. "You can't go around touching any old thing you like," he says turning back to face her. Leaning in closer he almost sneers, "didn't big sis teach you that? Leave me alone!" He yells suddenly as he moves towards the other side of the room. "I've tried to get it out," he whimpers suddenly. "I don't deserve it," he adds clamping his hands over his temple. "I'm not..." he growls at something.

Dawn puts a hand over her mouth. She can feel the hot tears running down her face but she isn't even aware of them. This wasn't her Spike. He was barely lucid hovering on the edge of insanity. Nothing he was saying was making any sense, only some of it was.

"I didn't mean to hurt the girl. I tried to make it better only its not, now they're all angry and mother won't stop, no matter what I do." He storms around the room shouting, "I've had enough of you! The next bloody word out of your mouth," he takes a swing at nothing and pulverizes the concrete wall. Michael grabs Dawn pulling the brunette out the door just as Spike punches the wall again.

"He wasn't always like that," Dawn says a short time later. The two girls having gone from the basement to the woods just beyond the school.

"Crazy?" Michael remarks as she plucks a blade of grass from the ground.

"Something had to have happened to make him act that way. He was always so strong, so resourceful. He gave off this entire air of invincibility. Like there was nothing in the world that could hurt him," she says as she bounces a small pebble off a nearby tree.

Michael nods in understanding. She knew the type well enough. After all, since before being trapped in the body of a fifteen year old girl she had been the same. Still was the same.

"He was tortured by a hell god once and didn't break. He's always done what everyone else said was impossible. The more they told him it couldn't be done the more determined he became to do it," the brunette says with pride.

"Sounds like you two were close," Michael prods hoping that Dawn would talk about what she was feeling. It was obvious that she wants to talk. More, that she needs to talk.

Dawn shrugs slightly while tossing another stone at the tree, "after Buffy died Tara and Spike were almost like surrogate parents, so. Yeah, we were close." She hurls another stone, again bouncing it off the same spot on the tree.

Michael grins at that. She knew there was no way Dawn would ever have her sister's natural skill when it came to fighting, but after months of training she was beginning to develop her own skill. It was skill she had been working hard to gain, not something that was handed down by some all powerful entity, but earned through spilling sweat and blood during long arduous hours of training.

"Even before that he was always there for me. Whenever I needed someone, Spike was there," she smiles slightly as her mind flips through all the times Spike has looked after her. "Kept me safe even when he didn't have to."

"And now you don't know what to do," Michael states causing Dawn to look over at her. "He was your hero, idol, icon who attempted to rape your sister and is now an insane lunatic living in the basement of your school."

"I should hate him," Dawn answers softly. "Only what happened to him? Why was he like that?"

"I don't know, but if I had to guess, from what he was saying. Guilt maybe," she says with an unsure shrug. "What you have to decide now is what you're going to do."

Buffy feels a large amount of satisfaction as her small fist slams into the side of Madison's head. The younger girl falls back, barely managing to avoid the follow up front kick by redirecting it fractionally. Buffy flows with the new direction as she jumps into the air throwing a spinning hook kick.

Michael just ducks under the kick, she was fairly certain would have removed her head from her shoulders, but can't avoid the back kick that follows. It was easy for her to tell the slayer was holding back, but only marginally. The redhead doubles over just as Buffy's other fist crashes into her jaw dropping her to the ground.

Michael had known telling the blonde had been a mistake, but there hadn't really been a choice considering Wood had caught them. "Enough," she calls out with a glare at the tiny woman. A moment later she spits a mouthful of blood onto the back lawn.

"I thought you could take anything I could dish out," Buffy replies in a cocky tone as she watches Madison stand back up. "At least I thought that was what you said?"

Michael spits out another mouthful of blood. "If this was just about training then I'd tell you to bring it on," she growls at her. She had taken worse beatings during her years of training and she doubts if there was anything Buffy could do to her that hadn't already been done years before.

"Unless I'm confusing this kicking of your ass with something else then this is still training," Buffy replies indignantly.

"She was going to down there no matter what and you know it," she spits out at her.

The tiny slayer breathes in deeply as her scowl at Madison deepens. "It wasn't up to you to take her down there."

"Oh, I should've just let Dawn go down there all by herself to say hi to the raving lunatic that attempted to rape you?" She demands making no attempt to cover up her sarcasm.

"You should've come to me," Buffy growls.

Michael snorts at her statement as she asks, "and what would you have done? Nothing."

Buffy's right hook comes out of nowhere dropping the young girl to the ground.

By the time Michael rolls over to her back, with a slight groan, the blonde was already gone. "Got a hell of a way with the ladies," she mumbles to herself as she lies on the ground staring up at the sky.

"As you brush your shoes. Stand before the mirror. And you comb your hair. Grab your coat and hat. And you walk, wet streets trying to remember." Michael sings, her voice almost slurring the words to the Van Morrison's classic Wild Night as she leans against the wall next to the window. Every so often her eyes would drift up from the floor to glance at the brunette sitting Indian style at the head of her bed as she leans over her books diligently doing her home work.

The dark purple bruise decorating Madison's jaw continues to draw Dawn's eyes pulling them away from what she was suppose to be doing. She couldn't believe her sister would blatantly beat on the young girl just because she had taken her down to see Spike. It had been her idea in the first place, Madison had only been along to protect her. If anyone should have gotten hit over the incident, not that she thought either of them should have, it was her.

Worst yet was the redhead's refusal to admit that the blow had been anything other then accidental. Each time she asks her Madison simply maintains that their sparring session had simply gotten out of hand. Dawn hadn't bothered telling the redhead that she had witnessed everything from her sister's bedroom window.

"All the wild night breezes in your memory ever. And everything looks so complete. When you're walking out on the street. And the wind catches your feet. Sends you flying. Crying. Ooh-wee! Wild night is calling. Ooh-wee! Wild night is calling."

The young brunette found the sound of Madison's soft, slurring voice as she sang the lyrics to be almost hypnotic. Listening to her sing was soothing and was actually helping her concentrate on her homework. Or perhaps that was Madison herself.

"All the girls walk by, dressed up for each other. And the boys do the boogie woogie, on the corner of the street. And the people passing by, just stare in wild wonder. And on the inside jukebox roars out just like thunder. And everything looks so complete. When you're walking out on the..."

At least it would have been if her sister hadn't blackened her eye. Or if Madison wasn't so close mouthed about the subject. "I saw what happened," she finally blurts out.

"So what?" Michael asks with stopping her playing.

Dawn growls silently as she drops her pencil onto the smooth pages of her geometry book. "Buffy hit you," she answers clearly aggravated.

"Things got rough, weaved when I should've bobbed," she responds without breaking rhythm.

"You were standing still," Dawn snaps.

"Like I said, should've bobbed," she murmurs softly.

Dawn bounces off the bed snapping, "would you stop covering it up?"

Michael glares slightly as she glances up at the brunette as she stops strumming the guitar. Dropping the pick from between her fingers she begins picking at individual strings while the fingers of her left hand shift smoothly from position to position as she switches to Alanis Morissette's Utopia. "what would you like me to tell, that your sister has anger management problems, or that she over protective when it comes to the people she cares about?"

"She shouldn't have done it," Dawn replies angrily.

"It's nothing," Michael responds.

"Yes it is."

"Just drop it," Michael growls turning her back on Dawn. Starting from the beginning she picks up the lyrics of the soft hauntingly melodic tune. Her voice resonates with a wash of pain filled hopefulness.

"We'd gather around. All in a room. Fasten our belts, engage in dialogue. We'd all slow down. Rest without guilt. Not lie without fear. Disagree sans judgment. 

"We would stay and respond and expand and include and allow and forgive and  
enjoy and evolve and discern and inquire and accept and admit and divulge and  
open and reach out and speak up.

"This is utopia, this is my utopia, this is my ideal, my end in sight. Utopia, this is my utopia, this is my nirvana, my ultimate.

"We'd open our arms. We'd all jump in. We'd all coast down, into safety nets.

"We would share and listen and support and welcome, be propelled by passion not invest in outcomes, we would breathe and be charmed and amused by difference,   
be gentle and make room for every emotion.

"This is utopia, this is my utopia, this is my ideal, my end in sight. Utopia, this is my utopia, this is my nirvana, my ultimate.

"We'd provide forums. We'd all speak out. We'd all be heard. We'd all feel seen.

"We'd rise post-obstacle more defined more grateful, we would heal be humbled and be unstoppable, we'd hold close and let go and know when to do which, we'd release and disarm and stand up and..."

A soft knock at the door comes a moment before Buffy calls out, "Dawn, Madison. Meeting downstairs," and then she's gone.

"...whatever it was, it was big and strong. Stronger than.... I mean, I don't know how it's possible. You hear things in this town, living here in Sunnydale, but nobody actually believes them. You know, you'd have to be crazy, and... You guys think that I'm crazy, don't you?" Nancy finishes looking around at the young people around her.

Xander scoffs saying, "I don't."

Michael had to give the guy some credit. He actually seemed to have a calming influence on the woman.

"We've all seen things, too, Nancy," Buffy informs her. The sincerity practically dripping from her words.

"And we're going to take care of this," Xander adds puffing his chest out slightly. "It's your lucky night... Considering, you know, your dog just got all ate up and stuff," he looks slightly embarrassed mentioning her dog. Then he tries to cover it by inanely asking, "hey, can I freshen up your tea?"

Nancy shakes her head slightly as she says, "no. That's okay, thanks."

Xander shakes his head in disgust while Michael smirks at him. Xander sees the young woman grinning at him and glowers back at her. He had heard about her encounter with Buffy's fist and the reason for it and had his own words to add about bringing Dawn down to see Spike. He was going to use words since Madison had made it painfully obvious early on that she could kick his butt whenever she chose.

Dawn ignores the by-play going on between Xander and Madison irritated with both of them. Instead she concentrates on helping Buffy figure out this case. "So, you say this thing just came up out of the ground without any warnings or signs or anything?"

Nancy shrugs slightly, "just this kind of rumbling, you know. Like just before an earthquake."

"From beneath you, it devours," Buffy mumbles to softly to be heard clearly unless you knew what she was saying to begin with.

"What?" Nancy asks having heard Buffy's murmur.

Buffy shakes her head saying, "nothing."

"Nothing good," Dawn adds causing Michael to give the brunette a questioning look that she deftly ignores.

"Sounding monsterific all right," Xander supplies pulling Nancy's eyes off the two sisters.

"Should we round up the gang?" Dawn asks enthusiastically.

"Good thinking. Except," he gestures around the room, "this is the gang."

Her voice full of confidence as she begins Buffy says, "Look, Nancy, we're going to get into this. And I promise you, if your dog is alive, we're going to find him. The only thing that I need is a little..."

"What you need is help. Fortunately. You've got me," Spike comments cockily from the foyer pulling all eyes to him. Seconds seem to drag by as everyone stares at the bleach blonde vampire.

"Well he looks a lot better then this morning," Michael mutters taking in the fresh clothes, the slick back hair, and the sane look in his eyes.

"Buffy," Spike greets solemnly.

"Spike," Buffy replies as she stands up. With a stiff back she walks away from him towards the window that she stares out without really seeing anything.

Last time she had seen Spike she had been ecstatic, but she could blame that on the stress of the moment. Dawn being in trouble and everything else that was going on down in the basement. There hadn't actually been any joy in finding him down in the basement. She could convince herself of that, if she tries really hard.

She was upset about what Spike had tried to do, more then upset, but she was just as angry about what she had done to him last year. Allowing herself to sink down to his level. Worse she had enjoy it, and despised herself more then anything every single second because she had, because it was Spike that was actually reaching her. She was the slayer, she was suppose to be stronger then that. Have more self control and not give into the temptation that was in front of her.

Now after almost a week of Xander constantly pushing her to stake Spike, or if she couldn't bring herself to do it then he'd be more then willing to take care of the problem. She was just beginning to realize how difficult her life had become with Spike being back. She had already loved one vampire and didn't think her friends could survive a repeat of the experience if she were to allow herself to fall in love second one. Not that she'd have any friends left if that did happen.

Then today Madison taking Dawn down to see him. She had expected more from the reckless but mature fifteen year old. It was almost like everyone was conspiring against her. She could hear the people in the room talking behind her. Everybody but Madison. The girl was being unusually quite, or she was being disquietingly observant. For a fifteen year old she had an alarmingly accurate, if highly cynical way of interpreting the motives and actions of the people around her.

Turning back around she keeps her voice as emotionless as possible as she says, "you've changed."

"I have," Spike agrees.

"New clothing. Better hair. Not so much with the crazy. I like it. Now what do you want?" She demands feeling everyone's eyes on her.

Spike's face shows signs of his discomfort as he responds saying, "easy. If you think I like putting myself here, surrounded by people who don't particularly like me, you'd be wrong."

Xander stands scowling at the vampire. He makes no attempt to keep hold of his temper as he threatens him saying, "if you're uncomfortable, we can make you leave."

Spike ignores Xander. After spending years around the man it was an easy task, almost as easy as forgetting he didn't need to breathe. "I'll be quick. We need to talk. Want to do that here, or privately?"

"I'm thinking here. In the company of good friends and pointy weapons," Xander replies if possible with even more anger coloring his voice.

Buffy's glare flickers slightly between Xander and Spike. Right now her life would be so much easier if neither one of them were in it. But both of them were in it and she really didn't want either one out of it, but it would be nice if they could, just for once, get along without her or someone else playing referee. "You said something about quick?"

Spike nods as he begins, "I did. Before I start, and for the record, the last you saw me. The last any of you saw me," he adds with a meaningful look towards Dawn. "I was a mess... out of my head, admitted. This last week, living in the school basement, well, you saw me. And well... if I said anything upsetting then my apologizes."

"That's it?" Xander growls angrily.

"Xander," Buffy begins as she turns to face her long time friend. "Just leave it?" She pleads with her long time friend. She lets out a soft sigh as Xander nods reluctantly. Turning towards Spike she follows him out of the pallor.

Dawn stands up from the couch, turning to look out the window into the night. Buffy had been gone for a while now. Her, Xander, Spike, along with Nancy. They had all left at the same time and so far nobody had checked in yet. It was getting to the point where she was seriously thinking about going out and looking for them.

With a slight peek over her shoulder at Madison she amends her last thought. If she could somehow slip away from the ever watchful redhead Buffy had set as her keeper she'd go out and look for them. She found it amazing that the two could set aside their ire for each other so quickly to agree on this one subject. Not really set aside since the two hadn't mended fences, they barely talked about it, they just teamed up to keep her out of harm's way.

"I could be a help to them," she tells the younger girl.

"Maybe," Michael agrees glancing up from the thick book she was reading to look at Dawn. "But I got the feeling they need some time to work things out."

"What if they shouldn't work things out?" Dawn demands icily.

Michael sighs slightly as she rubs her thumb and first finger over her closed eyes. Standing up she walks over to look out the window on Dawn's right side, almost at her shoulder. "Look, I know you probably don't want to hear this," she draws in a deep breath before continuing, "but I don't think Buffy was entirely blameless in her relationship with Spike."

Dawn eyes turn cold as she stares at the girl standing next to her. "Are you saying she asked for it?" She growls darkly.

"Of course not," Michael snaps angrily as she turns to face Dawn. "No woman asks to go through that. I was talking about their relationship, whatever it was."

"And how would you know anything about that? You weren't even here," she points out.

Michael sighs again, a slight exhalation before saying, "didn't need to be here then to read her body language tonight." Turning back towards the window she stares back into the darkness that was broken by tiny pinpricks of light from other houses. "If you know what you're looking at Buffy can be a very easy person to read. After Spike showed up there was as much guilt as there was anger."

Dawn reaches out her hand towards the bruise on Madison's cheek as she says, "maybe she was feeling guilty about hitting you."

As much as she would love to melt into the young girl's touch she just can't bring herself to do it. Dawn doesn't need to get involved with someone like her, someone that used to be an almost thirty year old man.

Barking a short laugh Michael spins away from Dawn's touch. "Right," she begins, "your sister feeling guilty about clocking me upside the head. What do you think the chances for that are? About as good as me ever apologizing for taking you down to see Spike," she finishes just an instant before throwing herself back into the chair she had stood from.

The door swings open slowly from Buffy pushing it inward as she staggers into the foyer. She doesn't even pause to push it close as she climbs the stairs. The only word that Michael could use to describe Buffy as she crosses her field of vision was; crushed, devastated, despondent. She looks like an emotional train wreck.

Dawn moves forward at the same time Michael rises from the chair. "She looks..."

"Like she did when mom died," Dawn interjects as she heads towards the stairs.

Michael grabs hold of her arm pulling her up short. As the brunette turns toward she asks, "what are you going to do?"

"Talk to her, find out what happened," she answers.

Michael nods as she lets go of Dawn's arm. The brunette quickly rushes up the stairs once she's free. Michael goes back to the chair she's been hopping in and out of and plops back down and settles in as she waits for Dawn to return.

Dawn stops just inside the pallor doorway. She had left her sister sleeping in her room, she had actually cried herself to sleep. Once Dawn found out why, or as much as Buffy was willing to tell her, she could understand why. To say that Buffy was emotionally shattered would have been like saying fire was hot or ice was cold. She felt responsible for causing it to happen in the first place.

It hadn't taken her long to get Buffy to tell her what had happened between her and Spike tonight. The gist of it anyway. That after leaving Sunnydale Spike had somehow gotten his soul restored because he thought it was what Buffy would want.

That was why he was acting insane. The guilt, the remorse. They were tearing him apart.

Spike had confessed everything to Buffy, in of all places, a church. Then in keeping with normal Buffy fashion she ran away leaving Spike alone.

After listening to Buffy she knows what she has to do. She wasn't going to do the same things her sister did. She wasn't going to run away. Dawn had made her decision and nothing was going to stop her from carrying it out. "Do you remember when you said if I needed help with anything all I had to was ask?"

At the first sound of Dawn's desperate, pleading voice Michael turns toward the brunette. Seeing her moist eyes she's at her side a short moment later. "Of course I do," she replies softly. She would do just about anything to remove that desolate look from Dawn's normally pristine face.

"Did you mean it?"

"Just name it," Michael answers solemnly as she runs a gentle thumb across Dawn's cheek wiping away the tears.

"We need to go get Spike, bring him back here, get him a motel room. Something, anything. We just can't leave him there," she pleads.

Michael grabs hold of Dawn's shoulders rubbing them soothingly. "Hey, its gonna be okay. We'll go get him, if Buffy has a problem with him staying here then I'll get him an apartment," she promises the young brunette.

________________________________________________________________________

Hurt - Johnny Cash

I hurt myself today  
to see if I still feel  
I focus on the pain  
the only thing that's real  
the needle tears a hole  
the old familiar sting  
try to kill it all away  
but I remember everything  
what have I become?  
my sweetest friend  
everyone I know  
goes away in the end  
you could have it all  
my empire of dirt  
  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt  
  
I wear this crown of thorns  
on my liar's chair  
full of broken thoughts  
I cannot repair  
beneath the stain of time  
the feelings disappear  
you are someone else  
I am still right here  
what have I become?  
my sweetest friend  
everyone I know  
goes away in the end  
you could have it all  
my empire of dirt  
  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt  
  
if I could start again  
a million miles away  
I would keep myself  
I would find a way


End file.
